34 comments/ 182755 views/ 54 favorites Playing Musician By: pseudonym2005 Author's Note: This story is an original work of fiction. All characters appearing herein are at least eighteen, if not expressly stated. Future stories starring some or all of these characters might also be forthcoming based upon response and demand. Certain characters featured herein may also be found in other works by the authors. Feedback is desired and greatly appreciated. Email comments to the address in our profile. Thank you for reading. Copyright 2009 by Jack and Josephine Cutter. This story stars: Josh Redding and Brigitte Erikson, and also features Kayden James, Damien Taylor, Rex and Alexandra Jennings, and Michael Rowe. This story contains: erotic male-female coupling, group sex, fellatio, cunnilingus, analingus, male dominance, teenagers, collegians, rock stars, jam sessions, an interesting proposition, and anal. This story begins post-prologue on Tuesday, October 11th. * * * * * There were three of them: one blonde, one brunette, and one dark redhead. The blonde was straddling his face in reverse, her tasty pink pussy perched above his mouth to let him to savor her folds and juices with his lips and tongue. Her back was arched and her knees were planted on the rug on either side of his torso, her feet down past his ears, her luscious bottom pushed out. She was kissing and canoodling with the brunette, who was impaled upon the entirety of his cock, six inches buried in her hot velvety sheath as she straddled his waist in standard cowgirl style. She was not moving, having just recently acquired her position and thus content, for the moment, to enjoy the feel of being filled and the sensation of locking lips with another woman. Of course, she was also enjoying the pleasurable experience of having her back door licked: the dark redhead was curled up between his legs, fingering herself as she lapped alternately at his testicles and the brunette's anus. It was quite the scene and Damien Taylor was enjoying himself thoroughly, even if at the moment his visuals were somewhat impaired by the body of the blonde. Not that he cared, in truth: he was happy to gaze point-blank upon the wrinkled copper plot set in the center of the blonde girl's ass, which he would certainly become more acquainted with as the night wore on. And then the brunette began to move, rocking her hips forward and back, lifting herself up and sliding back down, rolling his shaft around like she was working the joystick of an old Atari gaming system, doing her damndest to give him every conceivable ounce of pleasure. Damien moaned into the pussy of the blonde and the vibrations coursed through the girl's body, the shuddering growing more and more pronounced until she exploded with a burst of juice over his face and a squeal into the mouth of the brunette, who shivered herself with pleasure and bucked her hips forcefully back and jammed her ass into the face of the redhead, whose tongue speared straight up the brunette's anus, causing her to jump again and squeal back into the mouth of the blonde, who was trembling violently now and mashing her pussy into his face. It was chaos, pure and simple: a frenzied, beautiful, four-person orgy-chain of fucking. Damien could feel the muscles of the brunette milking him and decided he did not care if he lasted that long on this first go-round. There would be plenty more time to sample other delights between the rest of that night and the next morning. And so as he felt himself coming close to the edge he did three things in succession: first, he stuck his tongue as far up the pussy of the blonde as he could, trying to reach as deep into her crevice as possible; second, he brought his hand up, smacked the blonde on the ass, and drove his pointer finger into her asshole up to the second knuckle; and third, he released himself and exploded into the depths of the brunette, spilling his seed without warning. The brunette screamed as she realized what was happening, knowing now that he was filling her up. The blonde screamed as well, but for an entirely different reason: never before had anything, anything, ever been inside her ass. The redhead, meanwhile, noticed little of what was happening beyond the sudden screams themselves, and was perfectly with nuzzling his balls. Several long, luxurious moments later, the blonde and the brunette collapsed beside him in a heap, exhausted after tremendous orgasms, and the redhead quickly followed suit, climbing onto the pile of limbs even though she had not yet reached climax, nor was particularly tired. Turning his head to the left to see an exquisite pair of breasts and turning his head to the right to find more of the same, Damien grinned. Ripe and ready for the taking, if only one had the courage to act . . . and Damien certainly did. But first, he was in the mood to watch a little girl-on-girl while he recovered. He rose and trudged to a plush leather couch off to the side of the room, and tumbled onto it, sighing as he settled into the leather. The redhead, eager for more action and not yet wearied by climax, took charge immediately, diving into the muff of the brunette to suck out his cum. The brunette obliged, splaying her legs out to the side. "Quite a show," said the man already seated on the couch, whose name was Rex Jennings. Rex had been watching the entire time from the couch, fully clothed and abstaining from sex. He was an independent and very successful talent agent for musicians, and Damien Taylor was one of his biggest clients, a mega-famous pop rock star cut from very much the same cloth as Justin Timberlake, to whom he was often compared. The girls, of course, were three of Damien's more-than-adoring fans. Like many successful musicians, the rock star was never one to pass up sexual opportunities, of which there were many, and relished multi-partner episodes. This particular set of star-struck girls were no-brainers, hot and uninhibited. Noticed in one of the front rows at a small-venue concert earlier that night, Damien had made certain they were brought back to his hotel suite. Damien had also insisted Rex accompany them. Of course, there was the usual propositioning: take the blonde one, have the redhead, fuck two at once, no rules, it's all good here, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Rex, however, was not the usual music industry agent; he actually had a wife whom he loved and was faithful to. Their sex life was adventurous, yes, and sometimes they brought others into their marital bed, but Rex would never stoop to fucking the groupies of his clients, and certainly never without his wife's permission or involvement. He was allowed to watch on occasion, however, when circumstance called for it. Damien had insisted and thus Rex had agreed, although he would not stay longer than absolutely necessary; it seemed now was the perfect opportunity to excuse himself, once a little business was attended to. The groupies maneuvered themselves into a three-girl daisy chain, a triangle of limbs and bodies. The brunette was suckling the pussy of the redhead, who was eating the blonde, who was still relishing the cum-soaked snatch of the brunette. The girls were whimpering and purring, and continuously flashing looks over at Damien to ensure he was still interested in them, which he was, of course. They did not realize it yet, but Damien was like a machine (particularly when drugs were involved, which they almost always were, including at present) and would continue to be interested for several more hours. "Oh, yes," Damien said with a wicked grin. "They are luscious." Rex smiled, although it did not nearly touch his eyes. It was the kind of smile perfected over ten years of dealing with self-absorbed, diva-like musical talents. "They have no idea what they're in for tonight," he said with a hint of pity. "Not a clue," Damien agreed. It was fairly well-known inside the right kinds of circles that Damien Taylor was a bit of freak when it came to exploits in the bedroom. Kinky and nasty were two of his favorite words, and any groupie sharing his bed was absolutely sure to head home with well-fucked bowels. "Mind if we talk a little business?" Rex asked, sensing the timing was right. Damien rolled his eyes and waved an indicative hand at the women. Rex could practically hear him saying, talk about business with pussy in front of us? But he did not actually say anything, so Rex barreled forward. "Five events this week, including two on Saturday," Rex stated, "and then Monday you're off to London. I have to remain here, so Tanya will be the point-person traveling with you overseas." Damien was suddenly interested. "Tight little blonde?" Rex nodded. "Nice!" "She's engaged," Rex informed him. Damien grinned. "Doesn't matter," he said with a shrug. His eyes drifted back to the women on the floor as he began stroking his own cock. "What are the weekend gigs?" "An autograph signing and a private corporate function," Rex revealed. Damien groaned. "Seriously? No chance." "The private party means big money. It's been on the schedule for weeks." The redhead lifted her head from the cunt of the blonde. "Damien," she purred, her cheeks and chin slick with female fuck juice, "we need you. I want cock." Damien grinned, then turned to Rex and looked him in the eye. "Cancel it," he ordered as he rose to his feet, "or work something else out. I have no interest in glad-handing mallrats or selling out to yuppies in suits." "But, Damien . . ." Damien turned his back on Rex and made his way towards the women. "Work it out, Rexy," he called over his shoulder. "You always do." And so Rex Jennings rose from the couch and left the hotel room, happy to be leaving but quite unhappy with the most recent turn of events, and as the door swung shut the last thing he saw was Damien Taylor returning to his position on his back on the floor, the redhead lowering her breasts into his mouth as the blonde and brunette went to town on his cock. Ah, Rex thought with a sigh, how nicely led were the lives of rock stars. Part One: An Average Young Man John Smith had been teaching history at Mitchell High School for nearly twelve years, never once deviating from the curriculum or involving himself in any extra-curricular teaching activities. He oversaw no clubs, coached no teams, led no study groups, and never voiced his opinion on any administrative issue unless it was expressly and aggressively asked for, which it rarely was. In short, he was as bland as his name. He taught five classes every day with very little excitement. His students were often bored to tears during his lectures, some openly snoozing in the back of the classroom. He did not care, really; it was their prerogative to learn or not to learn. He rarely invested himself in what he was saying and rarely displayed any kind of enthusiasm for the material. Except for eighth period, however, which was his last class of the day and the only class he cared anything about. The subject was American History, which was not what excited him, and neither was his enthusiasm derived from the knowledge that at the conclusion of eighth period, his work for the day was done. No, the root of his excitement was much simpler . . . and far more primal. He was forty-two, but his experience with members of the opposite sex was slight. He was a dork in high school and a nerd in college, and had thus only been with a handful of girls, and his age and lifestyle and personality, unfortunately, were not about to change that. The closest he got to anything remotely attractive were the female teachers at the school (most of whom interacted with him little) and the girl students in his classes (of which, eighth period had by far the greatest quantity of quality). There were no fewer than six beautiful seniors in the class, all unafraid to flaunt their good looks and flirt with all comers. He was more enlivened during those classes than any of the others, energizing his discourse and striving to engage the students on the off-chance such activity might entice said girls into in-class discussion, and thus prompt interaction with John himself. As the students filed into the room on this day of days, a Tuesday as it happened to be, John was sitting in his usual place behind the desk, watching them enter. He was always sitting when his classes walked in; if one of the girls was wearing a particularly revealing outfit, it was sure to manifest itself physically in his trousers and he did not want the students to notice. There were ten students in the class, all seniors, eight of whom funneled in as follows: Alexia Svetkova, a gorgeous blonde foreign exchange student; Bailey Cook, a strawberry redhead with the perfect cheerleader body, which was fitting since she was, in fact, a cheerleader; Darnell Aldridge, an athletic young black man and the starting cornerback for the varsity football team; Anthony Manning, a clownish stoner-surfer character; Chris Black, brooding and intense, very poetic and much connected to the English department; Ella Norris, a sassy black-haired girl with a tight and very youthful-looking figure; Abigail Wells, a smoldering brunette with unending legs and an insanely hot body; and Jessica Wilson, a bouncy blonde with fantastic tits. The ninth member of the class arrived just as the bell was sounding, scurrying to his seat and trying his best to make no eye contact with anyone. Joshua Redding was the stereotypical invisible high school student; his clothes were a little too large, his hair a little too long and his personality a little too shy. A smart kid, yes, but socially speaking, the boy was a nobody. And then the tenth member of the class arrived and the ninth was forgotten completely: Brigitte Erikson took the award that day for most scandalous outfit, and she won in a landslide. Brigitte was blonde and beautiful, clearly and proudly of Swedish descent, and popular, all but guaranteed a spot in the school's homecoming court, if not the title of queen itself. Her hair was perfect, her face flawless, her breasts large, and her body fantastic. And on this day of days, her outfit showed all of it off: cropped purple shirt three sizes too small, quite obviously no bra, short black mini-skirt, and black Ugg boots. The ensemble was, in a word, ridiculous. John was instantly hard and realized that he would do very little moving around during that particular class session. "Thank you for joining us, Brigitte," he said curtly, trying to steer his mind away from images of the girl naked, sucking his dick. The girl smiled sweetly. "You're welcome, Mr. Smith," she purred, utterly oblivious to the fact that she was late. She plopped into the open chair in the front row and crossed her legs, but not before John saw the flash of lacey white panties between her inner thighs. He met her eyes and she grinned at him, and he swallowed . . . hard. "Alright, class," he said hurriedly, mind racing, "we've been talking about James Polk . . ." And so it went for John during that last class, his furtive glances at the girl in the front row met always with that same sly little smile, her movements languid and always the width of a hair from revealing more as those white panties tantalizing out of sight. And when the bell rang and the period ended, and the class filed out, John watched the rump of the girl swish its way out the door before he rose, locked it, and pumped his cock for all it was worth in the quiet security of the classroom, exploding all over her chair. * * * Everyone knew that Brigitte was the leader of her little gaggle of girls. She made the decisions, she ran the show, and few expressed opinions contrary to her own. She was the ruler of the clique, more powerful than god in the eyes of her followers. Which is why when she announced that she had grown tired of their regular after-school meeting place at the tables near the senior lockers, and that a suitable new location would have to be found, no one disagreed with her. In the end, Brigitte settled on a little swath of grass beneath on old oak tree, much more out of the way than usual, which was surprising considering the girl was very much about exposure and popularity, and being seen and admired. "Mr. Smith was perving me again today," Brigitte announced smugly as the girls took their seats. There were three others with her, all of them very attractive for different reasons but none, she thought, as hot as Brigitte herself. "Ewww!" squealed Betty Neal, a bubbly blonde with light blue eyes. "Gross!" "What a horn-ball," said brown-eyed Jamie Rhodes, a brunette with the brightest mind of the bunch, and of the girls in the group, Brigitte would listen to Jamie more than any other. The last girl, a ditzy blonde named Sarah Yeager whose intelligence quotient would likely not cross the three-digit mark, merely giggled. "I love tormenting him," Brigitte informed them with a devilish grin. "He's so easy." "You're bad," Jamie said with a sigh. "Ewww!" Betty squealed. Sarah continued to giggle. Brigitte rolled her eyes; it was clear the conversation was going nowhere. She changed the subject and said firmly, "What are the options this weekend?" Jamie opened her planner. "The game is Friday night," she read aloud, "with three possible after-parties: one Rembrandt, one Benton, and the usual football crowd at Sala's house. The mall on Saturday. Nothing Sunday." "Rembrandt?" Brigitte inquired. "Hosted by Blair Alderan," Jamie replied. Brigitte grimaced. "That slut?" she groaned. "Pass." "What about the football boys?" asked Sarah. "The new quarterback is really cute." "Maybe an appearance is appropriate," Brigitte mused. "We haven't gone to a football party yet this year and I'd love to see that bitch Lexie's face when we show up." "Any more concerts?" Betty asked. "Oh my god, last weekend was so much fun!" The four girls had gone to see Damien Taylor perform at a sold-out show in a tiny theater on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. Brigitte was absolutely obsessed with Damien Taylor and went to see him every chance she got. "No one we would want to see," Jamie replied. Sarah sighed. "He's soooo hot!" "Who?" asked Betty, oblivious. "Damien Taylor," Jamie answered with an are you an idiot kind of look. "Oh, he's gorgeous!" "Yes, we're aware of that," Brigitte snapped. Sometimes, just sometimes, the stupidity surrounding her grew to be too much. She suddenly felt in a not-so-nice mood. Which was unfortunate for the poor sap who happened to round a nearby corner, eyes on the ground as he made his way towards their little cluster beneath the oak tree without even noticing they were there, because when he raised his head and saw them, and stopped dead in his tracks with a dumbfounded look on his face, Brigitte could not help snapping at him, too. "What do you want, dork?" she called curtly. The guy seemed very familiar, but Brigitte could not place it. He was a senior, yes, but she had no idea what his name was. Outside those in her group or those popular enough to warrant remembrance, Brigitte cared little for the names and lives of others. "Uh, uh, well, I, uh," he stammered, clearly frazzled. "Get – get – get out of here, nerd," Brigitte mocked. The boy stood there a moment longer, staring with wide deer-in-headlight eyes, then turned and fled as quickly as he had come. "You're bad," Jamie said again, quietly this time, and this time she meant it for a different reason. "You're so mean!" Betty squealed. "He's such a sweetie, that guy." Brigitte fumed. "Shut up, Betty! I bet you don't even know his name." Betty lowered her eyes. Clearly, Brigitte had been right. The blonde queen of her clique steeled herself. "Whatever, forget him," she stated flatly, and changed the subject again. "Let's talk about boys." Playing Musician And the squeal, giggle, and grin that followed that pronouncement let Brigitte know their little conversation was firmly back on track. * * * It was very difficult to get Josh Redding angry. He was, by nature, a very calm and composed guy, not prone to wild emotional swings, sadness or rage. He was fairly strong, he thought, having weathered the storm of obscurity throughout his high school years with poise and aplomb. It was tough being nobody, being so shy you rarely did anything that interested you for fear of the spotlight, but that was Joshua. Which is why he was surprised to feel the anger welling within him as he hurried away from the circle of girls sitting on the grass beneath the old oak tree, the one place in school that he truly considered his own. It was not the actual fact that they were there that bothered him; the girls could sit wherever they wanted and if they chose to sit there, so be it. But the cruelty in the eyes of Brigitte Erikson and the harshness of her words, the disdain and utter disregard in her voice, really pissed him off. She did not know him. In four years, she had spoken maybe five words in total to him. She was self-absorbed and vain, and never conversed with social fringe-walkers, into which category Josh firmly fell. She had no right to treat him the way she had. However, he would do nothing about it. What could he do, call her out? That would go over well. No longer would he just be ignored, he would be actively outcast. He did not want to be popular, but he did not want to be exiled, either. He stopped walking suddenly when he realized his feet had taken him on auto-pilot to an out-of-the-way corner of the school he rarely visited, near the music labs. He could hear from somewhere nearby the soft chords of a guitar drifting on the wind. He followed them and peered in through one of the windows of a small blue building, and was treated to the sight of two individuals, a bearded old teacher whose name he could not remember and a pretty girl Josh recognized from his biology class whose name was Addison Dawes, the latter of whom was strumming on an old acoustic guitar. The music was beautiful; Addy, as she preferred to be called, was very good. He had more than an hour before his mother arrived to pick him up (he had no car, which is why he spent so much time beneath the oak and considered the spot his) and decided he would be perfectly content to hang around the music lab and listen to the girl play. As the sweet sounds washed over him, Josh wondered just how his high school life might have changed had he involved himself in the world of the music program. It was something no one at his school knew anything about: he was a freak for music. He took his first guitar lesson at age five and never looked back, and now spent much of his free time composing songs, arranging music, or just simply sitting and playing. He often went out into the city to sit and play in solitude, unburdened by others. He was broken from his reverie by a voice next to him. "Can I help you?" the bearded old teacher asked, looking down at Josh curiously. Josh jumped to his feet and hastened away, calling out, "No, no, just leaving." And so he did, walking around aimlessly for forty minutes before he got the call from his mom, who was, thankfully and for once, actually early. * * * The boyfriend of Brigitte Erikson was little more than a lapdog, but most boys would (and did) jump at the opportunity; the pain of servitude was a small price to pay to sample the physical delights of a delectable creature like Brigitte. While blowjobs were rare and sex was rarer still, her boyfriends were often allowed to play with her lovely breasts or fondle her luscious ass, or pleasure her with their mouths. She was a big fan of oral-induced orgasm, even if the boys who serviced her usually lacked significant talent. Her boyfriend at the moment was Brent Thomas, a sophomore at UCLA. He was a good-looking guy and not too bright, which seemed to be her prerequisites. Her parents were out for the evening, as usual, and the two were lounging around her bedroom. Brigitte was still wearing her purple crop top and black mini-skirt from her day at school, but the boots were long since discarded. She was not really in the mood to fool around, but she had been dangling action over Brent's head for weeks and reckoned it was time to give him a little, if only to keep him under control. She reached down and shimmied out of her skirt, which left her in only the shirt, socks and a pair of white cotton panties with lace fringe. Brent was sitting on the chair at her desk, watching, practically drooling at the sight of her long tanned legs and tight body. "Want to play with my body, baby?" she asked. "You've been such a good boy lately. Come get your reward." And so Brigitte went to the bed and lay down on her back, her head propped up on some fluffy pink pillows, and waited. Brent sidled over to sit next to her on the bed, looking as sheepish as he felt. He was so excited to be getting some, he could hardly stand it; this latest stretch had been three long weeks. He gazed down upon her with an immediate and almost painful erection, knowing exactly how lucky he was to have access, however limited, to the flesh of a girl as incredible as Brigitte, even if she had yet to take him all the way. She had promised to fuck him at some point, however, and he would wait around as long as he had to. She lay on her back and splayed her legs out to the sides, those tiny panties barely covering the sacred place between her legs. "Touch me," she cooed. Her legs were long and smooth and he ran his hands along them. Her skin was cool and taut, the legs leanly muscled. There was not an ounce of hair on her; he knew how neatly groomed she liked to keep herself (regular wax appointments). He ran his fingers along her calves and knees and thighs, and she wiggled around just a bit when his caresses tickled too much. Then his fingers trailed up and over the cotton panties, and Brent very nearly came in his pants as he gripped the elastic band and waited, asking for approval with his eyes. "Alright," Brigitte said as she lifted her hips, and Brent nearly groaned as he tugged the panties down her legs and off to bare what splendors lay beneath. Her pussy was light pink with tightly pursed lips; Brent had seen several pussies in his life and hers was easily the prettiest, and every time he saw it the thing amazed him. She kept it clean and fresh and neatly groomed with a narrow landing strip of thin blonde curls set a few inches above. "Touch me," Brigitte said again, her voice a whisper. He brought one of his fingers to the place between her legs and used it to pull one of her lips to the side, baring the brightest pink part of her to his hungry gaze; he wanted to make every moment of this count. With the same hand a second finger spread the other side, his split fingers forming the shape of a letter "V" as they opened her wide. Brent could see both the little hooded nub of her clitoris and down somewhat into the hole that led into her depths. His off-hand stroked the inside of her thigh as he played with her pussy, pulling the lips this way and that, running his fingers up and down the labia, swirling them around the swollen nub, spreading the sex juice around, and as he did so the beautiful blue eyes of Brigitte Erikson fluttered shut with pleasure. After several minutes of glorious exploration, he decided it was time for the main course: he leaned in and inhaled the lovely scent of her before flicking his tongue out to capture some of her juice. He drew closer and flicked his tongue again, and this time caught much of her left pussy lip with the flat of his tongue. She stirred, her hips shifting slightly. And so Brent began eating his teenage high school girlfriend out, licking her with the flat of his tongue and sucking the swollen pink lips into his mouth. He swirled his tongue across her clit and she sighed. "Want me on all fours?" Brigitte asked quietly after some time. Brent could hardly believe his good luck. She knew how much he loved eating her when she was in that position, but rarely granted his request because she knew it meant he would go after her ass, too, which was strictly off-limits. Brigitte rolled over and got comfortable, rising to her hands and knees and arching her back downward to tilt the angle of her bottom back up. Brent lowered his face between her legs and took a couple of leisurely swipes across the girl's glistening pink folds, but his hands were moving, too, sliding up her legs and over the firm cheeks of her ass, his fingers digging deep into her flesh as he relished the supple feel. He jiggled the cheeks of her ass, just enough to fuel his excitement but not enough to upset her, before he dipped his thumbs to the inside and took firm hold again, and spread those wonderful cheeks apart to view what lay within the lovely crack. Brigitte's anus was pink and puckered and wrinkled and hairless, and no bigger than the size of a quarter. Brent gazed upon it for a long time; it was easily one of the sexiest things he had ever seen and he knew he would be jacking himself to the memory of the sight for years to come. Without thinking he moved his head forward and touched the tip of his tongue to the tiny hole, but Brigitte wiggled her hips away. "No," the girl said sharply, "not my butt." And so Brent diverted his attention from her luscious back door and again spread the cheeks of her buttocks apart, granting himself access to her lovely pink pussy, and he dove right into it with gusto. He feasted upon the saturated folds until her every breath was a heavy husk and her limbs were twitching with the tell-tale sign of impending orgasm. And then Brigitte came and flooded his mouth with juice, honey sweet and sticky, and when she was done she rolled over onto her back and looked down at him. "Have fun, sweetie?" she asked with another half-smile. Brent nodded dumbly. "Oh, yes," he answered. "Want me to do you?" she asked, blue eyes sparkling despite her not seeming that excited. "You know I would," Brent said enthusiastically, stoked by his good fortune. And so they switched places and the girl wrapped her fingers and lips around his cock, and sucked him with every ounce of her skill, as always, to ensure he finished quickly. Which, of course, he did. * * * The beach was a wonderful and mystical place when the sun went down, one of Joshua's favorite places in the world. The sky was a brilliant orange and the waters gentle and constant as they crashed upon the shore, the perfect kind of background accompaniment. He was a little farther north than usual, closer to the pier and the masses, but still far enough away to remain unbothered, which is exactly what he wanted when he played his guitar. He was sitting on a little stone wall separating sand and concrete, the latter of which formed a modestly used boardwalk, plucking away at the strings, eyes closed, relishing the sound of the music he made. When he finished a particular piece, his mind quickly selected another and the songs seemingly never ceased, flowing from one to the next, endless as the ocean upon the horizon. He was three songs deep, about to play an fourth, when a voice cut into his reverie. "Very nice," the voice said, and so Joshua opened his eyes. The man standing before him was a kind-looking man, handsome and clean-cut, and he, too, carried an old guitar slung across his back. "Pardon?" Josh asked lamely, unsure what else to say. "You're good," the man said as he sat down next to Joshua on the wall, "very good." "Thanks," Joshua replied. "You play?" The man nodded. "Oh, yes," he said with a smile and a sigh, as if he wanted nothing more in the world than to do exactly that. He lifted his arm and slid his guitar around, and planted it in his lap. "Few things in this world feel better." Josh was beginning to like the guy. "True," he agreed with a grin. "You look familiar. Do I know you?" "I don't think so," Josh replied. The man shrugged and looked down at his strings. "What's your name, friend?" "Josh." "Well, Josh, feel like jamming with me a little?" Josh grinned again. "Love to," he replied eagerly. "I'm Michael," the man revealed. "You just play. I'll follow your lead." And so it went for over an hour as the two strangers strummed their instruments in time and tune with one another, no real rhyme or reason to the chords they played and yet somehow, some way, the sounds produced were musical and potent, and began attracting a crowd of pleased onlookers. When Josh went high, Michael went low. When Michael riffed, Josh responded. The crowd got into it, bobbing and moving like a ripple through water, and Josh could not believe how good it felt to have them listening to him play. For far too long, his natural sense of shyness had restricted him from doing the things he wanted, but now, playing with Michael before the crowd, feeding from the energy created in that place, something inside him changed, a fundamental shift in his perception of the world around him. Being in the limelight, he decided, wasn't too bad. After a time, the onlookers dispersed; it was late, after all, and the sun was very nearly set. The air was cool, typical for a late September evening at the beach. At long last, Michael sighed and lifted his guitar, and Josh followed suit. "It's been too long since I played for the sake of playing," the older man said. "Just played, you know? Too much lately, it's been more about the business than the music. Whatever you do, Josh, make sure you always make it about the music." "Good advice." It was not Josh who had spoken, nor Michael. The voice was a new one and belonged to an attractive man strolling down the boardwalk, smiling pleasantly. He wore slacks and a button down shirt, and managed to make the ensemble look effortlessly casual. Michael grinned. "I wondered when I'd see you down here again," he called, "mingling with the little people. Josh, meet Rex Jennings, musical agent to the stars . . . and the sole remaining champion of a struggling guitarist named Michael Rowe. He's an old friend, but be careful: he runs in some pretty powerful circles these days." Rex was grinning right along with Michael. "Quite a long way from your mom's garage in south Orange County," he admitted. Michael rose and the two men hugged, and Rex added, "It's good to see you, man. It's been too long." "Yes," Michael agreed with a nod, "too long. Rex, this is Josh Redding, a significant young talent just waiting to be discovered. The base compositions of the songs we've been playing are his." Rex turned to Josh with more than a little curiosity. "Really? That's impressive, I heard some of it and liked . . ." The man trailed off, his eyes narrowing, almost squinting, and then widening as if he was seeing something for the first time. "You know, you have the most familiar face." "That's what I said!" Michael exclaimed. Rex did not take his eyes off Josh, who at this point was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. "You look very much like someone I know," Rex said thoughtfully. Josh shrugged and rose to his feet. "Maybe," he said, not sure what else to say, then turned to Michael. "Thanks for playing with me. I really enjoyed it." "Not as much as I did, Josh," the man replied. "Trust me." Josh nodded his head. "Nice to meet you, Mister Jennings," he said politely. "Sure thing, kid. You take care." And so Josh left the two men behind on the beach and headed home, the music from the afternoon and evening still swirling around his brain, just waiting to be consolidated and composed, and memorized. He would need to add lyrics next, which was always the most difficult part, and which also meant it was time to visit with Kayden. Which was awesome, as those visits always ended in very happy ways. Part Two: An Interesting Idea Sitting in fading light of his lush Beverly Hills office, Rex Jennings replayed over and over the many different facets and possibilities, advantages and disadvantages, best-case and worst-case scenarios of what he was considering. The phone rang and broke him from his reverie, startling him just enough to draw him back out of the depths of his mind. He hit the speaker phone button and the beautiful voice of his wife echoed through the room. Alexandra Jennings was not afraid. "Come home, baby," she cooed. "I need to be fucked." Despite the fact that it was eight o'clock on a Wednesday evening and everyone in the office was already gone, Rex still scrambled to pick up the receiver. Stupid, he thought; that would teach him to put his wife, may god bless her filthy and unfiltered brain, on speakerphone. Truly, he never knew what would come out of the woman's mouth; of course, it was part of made her so exciting. "Certainly you've got something lying around the house to help you out," Rex said nonchalantly, working hard to conceal his amusement. "A corona bottle maybe, or some zucchini, or that twelve-inch black rubber cock you love so much." His wife huffed. "I've got the kid next door," she shot back. "I'm sure he could satisfy me at least until you get home." "If he lasts that long. Eighteen years equals eighteen seconds inside that pretty little mouth of yours, and less elsewhere." Alexandra whined and began to pout. "Come home, sweetie, please? I'm so horny!" "I will, baby," Rex replied in a soft and serious voice, "but I need to do something first. Something important. I'll tell you when I get home. Save some for me?" "Fine," the woman said reluctantly, "but you'd better fuck me good tonight or you're in big trouble, mister." "As long and as hard as you want it," he promised. And so the call ended and Rex rose to his feet, and grabbed his suede jacket where it hung on a hook on the wall, and as he readied himself to leave he wondered two things: first, where and how he would make love to his wife later that night; and, second, whether or not he could pull off what it was he was planning. * * * School had been another uneventful affair. Joshua eased through the day without leaving the fringes of the student populace, without speaking to anyone in particular, without interacting in any meaningful way with anyone except his English teacher, Miss Rawlins, who kept him after to discuss his last paper, which she had found very intriguing and insightful. After school, however, Joshua knew things would get significantly better: earlier that morning he had placed a call to Kayden James, an old friend of his who also happened to be a smoking hot sorority girl at the University of Southern California. Josh met Kayden at the beach two years earlier, another fruit fallen from the tree of his musical talent. She was a senior in high school at the time and a big music-lover; she heard him playing his guitar while bike-riding, followed the sound of the music, and stayed all day to listen to him play. The two became very good friends. Kayden was blonde and beautiful, and utterly uninhibited with significant sexual abandon. She loved three things in the world outside her family: music, sex, and the beach. She was a family girl who cherished and doted on two younger sisters, and lavished love on her parents, but there was another person beyond blood whom she cared for a great deal: Josh himself, whom she had come to love almost like a brother. She had often told Josh that very thing herself. Every day, Josh thanked his lucky stars for leading him to Kayden, who was almost solely responsible for whatever confidence he currently had, not to mention the sole source of the bulk of his experience when it came to members of the opposite sex. Playing Musician It was several months since Kayden took it upon herself to teach Josh the sexual ropes. She said she wanted him to be ready when his soul mate came along, ready so that he would not drive her away due to lack of sexual prowess or experience. And so she had taken him into her bed and taken his virginity, teaching him and guiding him as she fucked him, and it was now to the point, after several sessions spread over several months, where Josh felt very comfortable and confident in bed with her, even a little adventurous. In fact, in many ways Josh felt like he would be more comfortable with a girl in bed than he was anywhere else, and Kayden agreed: he was very skillful between the sheets, but had almost zero chance of getting a girl into such a situation. Josh did not mind at the moment: his guitar and Kayden herself were more than enough for him, although moments with the girl were few and far between even at their heaviest. Which is why any opportunity to call upon Kayden was highly valuable in the eyes of Josh, and one of his best excuses was not actually classifiable as an excuse at all: Kayden was a music major at USC and an excellent lyricist, and she and Josh often collaborated on songs. And so at four o'clock that afternoon, Josh borrowed his mom's car, lacking one of his own, and drove the thirty minutes it took to get down to the university, and parked outside the bungalow-style apartment complex at which Kayden and her three roommates kept their residence, and headed inside with his guitar in hand. "Hey, squirt," Kayden said with a smile when she opened the door. She was just as gorgeous as ever with her blonde hair loosely held up in a ponytail, thin wire rim glasses, a plain white tee-shirt and grey sweatpants. She looked equally beautiful dressed down as dressed up, sometimes even better. When she drew him into a hug, Josh smiled. "I've missed you," he said with genuine feeling. It had been almost a month since he last saw her, not since the end of summer when she returned to college. "I've missed you, too," she told him, squeezing him tighter and letting the hug linger, "and I've worried about you. How've you been?" She smelled fantastic and Josh could not help but notice the feel of her breasts against his chest. But he cared for Kayden in addition to lusting after her, and right now, while he could feel things beginning to stir within him, he was more happy to see his truest and most trusted friend than anything else. "Decent," he admitted. "I've had better months, although yesterday was incredible." Kayden, ever exuberant, squealed happily and clapped her hands. "Really? Do tell!" Josh sighed. "Just jamming at the beach with a guy I met. We must've played for hours. There were people all around us listening to us play, soaking in the music. It was incredible, Kay. I wish you'd been there to see it." "Ahhh," Kayden said as realization struck. "You've got music stuck in your head." "Had to come to the best," he said with a grin. "My partner in crime, the only girl I trust." Kayden giggled. "The only girl you actually know," she teased. "Semantics, my dear," he scoffed, loving the playfulness of their exchange. "Just semantics." "Alright then, Casanova, let's hear it." And so Kayden and Josh hunkered down on the couch in the middle of the apartment, both of them thankful her roommates were out for the evening, and the latter lifted his instrument and closed his eyes, and began to play. When the song was finished, a song stitched together from the finest moments of the night before, and the echoes of the last notes faded and the room descended into silence once again, then and only then did Josh open his eyes. To find Kayden staring at him with wide, wondrous, beautiful dark green eyes, mouth open slightly as if she wanted to speak, but had not the words. He felt himself flush and lowered his eyes, then raised them again and asked, "Do you like it?" "You wrote that yourself?" she asked. Josh shrugged. "Not so much wrote it. It's more like I happened upon a few killer chords and found an easy way to tie them together." Her voice was soft, which was saying something as Kayden tended to dominate rooms and conversations, no matter how many (or few) the number of persons involved. "That was amazing," she breathed. "The music has so much feeling. It's incredible, Josh, truly." "It needs lyrics," he told her. "I don't know if I could add lyrics strong enough to do it justice," she admitted. "There is so much emotion, the lyrics might only slow it down. You'll have to help me." "Of course," he said, very much surprised by the reaction. "That song moved me, Josh," she told him then. "It moved me deeply. It's the kind of harmony that sticks with you, haunting almost, and very sensual. My body feels so hot right now." Kayden met his gaze then and her dark green eyes looked right into his browns, and it felt in many ways like she was looking all the way down into the depths of him. The corners of her mouth curved upward, the kind of smile that speaks of slow realization, which when appearing on the face of Kayden meant one thing and one thing only: hunger, carnal and all-consuming. Josh felt something twitch against the front of his jeans. "I saw that," Kayden said with a sudden grin. Josh played dumb. "Saw what?" he asked. "It," she stated emphatically with a pointed glance at his crotch. "I saw it move. It wants to play." Josh got the sudden image of a lioness on the hunt, which is exactly what Kayden was when she was horny. The person in her path was toast. "Perhaps," he countered. Kayden whispered, "I've missed it, baby. I've missed my little high school boy, my cute little project. It's been more than a month since I've played with it . . . " She trailed off, remembering. Josh was stoked, but there was also business to discuss. "What about the lyrics?" he asked. "When can we . . ." She raised one of her fingers to his lips and shushed him up. "Pillow talk, baby," she said gently, and now there was a strange little glint in her eye as she gazed at him intently. A knowing grin crept onto her face as she reached out and touched his shoulder. "You know what comes first." And before he could respond, before he could even think, beautiful green-eyed Kayden leaned in and brushed her lips lightly against his, and lifted her hand from his shoulder and grazed her thumb across his lips. Josh could feel his heart pounding a hole through his chest; Kayden never failed to deeply affect him. In the initial stages, the flirting and foreplay stages, he was practically putty in her hands. The girl smiled softly at him, knowing from experience his lack of early initiative. It had been some weeks since their last encounter and Josh had come a long ways, but he sometimes still needed to be guided with a delicate mixture of gentility and force. She moved her thumb away from his lips and replaced it with her mouth, and kissed him gently at first. His mouth parted and her tongue pushed past his lips. From the very beginning, before he had any experience with women at all, Kayden had discovered that Josh had a natural talent for kissing. She enjoyed making out with him greatly, more so than most of the older men she met; Josh was content with kissing, happy with anything, really, as long as it involved intimacy with her, while older men usually were so rushed to get down to fucking. It made Josh that much more desirable. Which was one reason why Kayden, a girl who churned through boys like butter and rarely gave a guy a second shot, much less three or more, so often returned to him. That, and she thought he was such a sweetie, so cute and vulnerable and in need of a girl like her. He was like the little brother she never had, only fuckable. It was kind of dirty, kind of naughty, and totally hot, and never failed to heat her up. Kayden crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, and not for the first time Josh wondered just how in the hell he was lucky enough to have acquired repeated access to her lusciousness. The girl smoothed her hands across his chest and snuggled closer to him, winding her arms around his neck, their noses inches from touching as they stared at one another. He enjoyed these moments, the quiet moments before the real action began; they were the most intimate moments of his life. He had come to care deeply for Kayden and viewed her as far more than just his sexual mentor; she was his friend, truly, and he would never forget it. Then she flicked her tongue and trailed it across his lips, lingering over first the top and then the bottom as her fingers snaked around behind his head and blazed a trail up through his shaggy and rather uncouth brown locks. Josh struggled to maintain himself. The golden-haired sorority girl was perched in his lap, teasing his lips with her tongue, and he was already hard and growing harder. He shifted in his seat and his erection pressed against her leg, and she groaned and grabbed his head, and mashed her lips into his. Kayden was super horny, Josh thought, but he did little further thinking when her hands slid over his shoulders and down the contours of his back, and her ass quivered and ground into his lap. His erection grew almost unbearable. She slurped his tongue into her mouth and suckled it, and then broke away, panting loudly, chest heaving, her large and lovely breasts jiggling faintly beneath the cotton of her shirt. "Stand up," she purred. She slid off his lap and onto her feet, and he rose with her. She came up to just below his chin and looked up at him, those dark green eyes smoldering. Kayden grasped the bottom of her shirt and drew it up over her head, and his eyes dropped instantly to her chest. Her breasts were pear-shaped mounds of perfection: firm and high, and very real. They jiggled and swayed as she sucked in heavy breaths of air, her honey-blonde locks sweeping across the rounded crests and shriveled light-red nipples. "Touch them," she ordered as she put her hands on her hips. There was a gorgeous female half-naked before him and Josh was not about to complain. He reached out and took her supple flesh in his hands, cupping them both and skimming his thumb across her nipples. "Suck them," she commanded, and again Josh did as he was told. He leaned over and placed his tongue against the nipple of her left breast, and suckled tenderly at the taut peak, taking time to caress it with his tongue every time his teeth scraped the sensitive flesh. He carelessly rolled her other nipple between the thumb and fore-finger of his right hand. "Oh, yes," the buxom blonde sighed, throwing her head back. Josh savored the deliciousness of Kayden's breasts as he turned his attention to the neglected one. Suckling them was like feasting on the most magnificent ice cream cones ever, soft and pliant and wonderful. Truly, he could worship them for hours. And then Kayden pulled back and smiled wickedly at him, and wiggled her hips as she slithered out of her sweats. They dropped to the floor at her feet and she kicked them away, leaving her naked but for a pair of flimsy white panties. Kevin gazed again at her gorgeous breasts, ripe cantaloupes and twice as juicy with pink quarter-sized aureoles around stiffened light red nipples. He marveled at the sight of her scrumptious legs, long and lean. "Come and take me, Josh," she said with a grin. "You know how I like it." Which is how he came to find himself several minutes later fucking the beautiful woman doggie-style on the floor of the living room, her whimpers and wails filling the apartment and almost assuredly echoing through the bungalow-style courtyard outside as he slapped her ass hard and repeatedly at her own request, before dumping his seed deep inside her pussy. And hours later when a second and third round of fucking were finished and the pair had long since retired to the privacy of her bedroom, they lounged naked on her queen-sized bed, her head on his stomach, his hand stroking tenderly the skin of her stomach and arms and breasts as they collaborated enthusiastically to put words to his song. And when they were finished with that, Kayden was feeling particularly inspired by their time of artistic invention and channeled the overflow of her passion by sucking him leisurely to his fourth climax of the night, which was totally fine with Josh. Just another happy ending to a night with Kayden James. * * * About the same time Josh Redding was plowing the beautiful Kayden from behind for this first time that night, Brigitte Erikson was also experiencing waves of pleasure. They were self-induced, brought on by her own fingers twiddling her rubbery pink folds, a leisurely session of masturbation upon her bed without need to reach climax quickly. She was taking her time, and enjoying it. It began in the shower with the water sweeping over her skin, always a lovely feeling, and continued when she took more than enough time on her breasts drying off, strumming her nipples and relishing the sensations. Her nipples had always been extremely sensitive, which is one reason she so rarely let her boyfriends play with them; they were always too rough. And so she found herself stretched out naked on her bed, thoughts drifting aimlessly, hands wandering in a similar fashion but always returning to the center of her sex. She was, she knew, a sexual creature at heart, but it was rare for her to bestow her full energies on a man; he would have to be someone significant for that to happen. She certainly never had for Brent, who was just the latest in a long line of subservient boyfriends, and little more than a stop-gap before she got to college and went after real prey. She felt her orgasm building and decided to allow it to crescendo, and moments later her limbs were trembling and her eyes were fluttering as a pleasant, if not powerful climax rolled over her. Still, the smell of sex was in the air, and she smiled lazily and sighed. She would call Jamie, she decided, and boast of her orgasm; Jamie was a little slut, too, at heart, and probably had a story of her own to share. She picked up the phone and dialed, and giggled when she heard her friend answer. Oh, how good it was to be her. * * * The drive home was particularly pleasant. Of course, sexual trysts with beautiful women tended to have that effect. Not just any woman, mind you, but a buxom, blonde, built-for-sex bombshell like Kayden James, from whose intimate embrace Josh had just recently departed. It was impossible for Josh to overcome the feeling that he owed the girl a great deal; she was very nearly single-handedly responsible for much of his confidence and, truly, many facets of his current personality and character. She was his angel, his muse; Kayden was his inspiration. While he knew there would never be old age and eternal bliss in their future, Josh loved her very much and would always carry a piece of her with him in his heart. He was surprised to see a silver sports car parked outside his house as he rounded the corner and rolled down his street: flashy cars were rare in his neighborhood. He pulled into the driveway, noting the dark figure sitting in the driver's seat, wondering just who it was and what was going on. Josh slipped out of his seat and the first half of that mystery was solved as the sports car door opened, too, and Rex Jennings rose from within. "Hello, Josh," the man said with a smile as he drew near. "You seem surprised to see me." Josh was exactly that. "A little. I don't remember telling you where I live." The man's grin widened. "It's my job to know where the talent lives," he replied, "and you, my friend, are definitely talent. Can we sit and chat for a bit?" "Sure," Josh said with a shrug. The man seemed decent enough and was a friend of Michael, the man from the beach, whom Josh had liked a great deal. He pointed at a couple of chairs on his porch and each took a seat. "I'll get right to it, Josh," Rex said then, his voice very business-like all of a sudden. "I'm here for two reasons. First, you blew Michael away last night at the beach and Michael has an excellent ear for music. He could not stop talking about you. He thinks you have incredible potential. Have you ever considered pursuing music as a profession?" "I've thought about it," Josh admitted with a nod. "Singer-songwriters are hard to find and even harder to manage," Rex said. "They require a great deal of patience and encouragement, and support, but the rewards can be some of the best in the business. I'm keeping my eye on you, Josh. You and I might become very good friends." "And the second reason?" Josh asked. Rex sighed. "Has anyone ever told you, Josh, that you look exactly like Damien Taylor?" Josh frowned, then chuckled. "The rock star? I can't say that they have." "I suppose," Rex said, "it's because some of the accessories don't really match up at all. Your hair styles are completely different, your eye colors are different, you dress about as differently as is humanly possible, and you are clean-shaven. Damien has a perpetual five o'clock shadow, almost like he had someone tattoo it onto his face." Not knowing what to say, confused as to where this was going, Josh said simply, "Interesting." Rex chuckled. "Not really," he said, "but this part is: take away those things, and those things are easy to work with, and your facial structure is remarkably similar to that of Damien Taylor. Honestly, you're a veritable doppelganger. I know; I spend way too much time around the guy, up close and personal." "Interesting," Josh said again, and he could've kicked himself for sounding so lame. Rex leaned back in his chair. "I know, I'm not really making any sense. Let me lay it on the table: Damien Taylor has two events lined up this Saturday, two important events, but he's being the same stubborn irresponsible prick he's been since he got famous and wants to blow them off to party half-a-world away. His decision is going to anger a lot of people and cost him, and me, a great deal of money. That's where you come in, Josh." Josh was beginning to worry about where this was going. He was about to say so, when Rex said something that completely shocked him. "Josh, how would you like to make twenty thousand dollars cash?" "Excuse me?" Josh replied, incredulous. "Damien Taylor has chosen to flake on his scheduled events this week," Rex continued. "There are two events, both with minor publicity and buzz surrounding them but both important to me personally. I'm ashamed of him. He's put me in an awkward position, so I'm doing something about it. I have a professional team of stylists at my disposal. Bottom line: I want you to pretend to be Damien Taylor on Saturday of this week. In return, I'll give you twenty thousand dollars, cash." It was the most incredible and ridiculous thing Josh had ever heard. "How am I supposed to pull off being Damien Taylor?" he asked sharply. Rex grinned. "Leave that to me. What you need to know is that Damien only plays a three-song set at private parties, none of which were written by him, all of which can be played acoustically. The radio and record versions are souped up electronically; Damien's actual singing voice is a small part of it. It won't be hard to pass off sounding like him on an acoustic version; he's never recorded acoustic versions before. Just learn how to play those songs acoustically and leave your looks to me." Josh was speechless. "What do you say?" Rex asked, but his voice was sure, like he already knew the answer. The mind of Josh Redding whirled through a thousand different possibilities, very nearly overwhelming itself as it contemplated the idea. The idea was ridiculous, yes. The idea was hare-brained, also yes. He had no idea how to pull off what the man was asking him to pull off. In the end, however, he kept coming back to one key element, which meant that no matter how ridiculous, no matter how high the likelihood of embarrassment, the answer was simple.