3 comments/ 55496 views/ 1 favorites Rock My World By: SilkenOrgasm Get your lips wet, roll your tongue over that fat cock, take it down and look him in the eyes with your seductive come fuck me smile. Flick your clit with your fingers as you start to moan with passion, Slide two fingers home in that dripping wet cunt...pump them in and out making your moans cries of ecstasy while you take his cock deeper down your tight throat. Make him want you in the worst way, make him beg to fuck your hot wet pussy...Take a min to lick your juices off of your fingers while he watches...his mouth watering for the chance to taste you. Take your breasts in your hands and make him watch you roll your nipples between your fingers, pinch then till they are stiff peaks begging for his attentions. Then take one in your mouth and suck on it...flick your tongue over it while you watch him watching your every move. You get wetter still watching him watching you...You tell him to stay where he is as you grab a 6 inch clear dildo that you know just barely fits in your tight wet pussy, spread your legs for him as you sit down on the couch in front of him, rub your clit for him, watching his hands fondle his big cock you just had deep in your throat. Slide that dildo in your dripping pussy, slowly as your eyes never stray from him, a moan escapes your lips as you pump that dildo in and out of you tight wet hole, he gets on his knees his eyes begging to touch you, to taste you, but you make him stay where he is in front of you, you take the now wet dildo out of your pussy and you bring it to your lips and you lick the tip of it, teasing him delight sparkels in your eyes as you watch him watching, and then you take it all into your hot little mouth. Sucking every last drop of your juices off of it... You take his hand and you rub your clit with him....dipping two of his fingers in your wet pussy, moving them in and out at a slow and steady pace..you pull him in for a kiss, his tongue dances with yours trying to capture your essence you've been holding captive from him...you pull his fingers out of your pussy and you bring them up to your lips, licking them slowly, watching his eyes follow your tongues movements, You ask him if he would like to taste, not that you have to cause you can see he is dying to. He quickly nods yes in response and you let him lick the rest of your essence off of his fingers...You smile knowing how much he enjoys your taste, your every being... You pull him up on the couch into a sitting position, and you straddle his big dick, and slowly guide him into your hot wet pussy, oh My God so tight it fills you so well...Slowly you grind your hips over his as you move in a steady rhythm, his hands move to your hips and ass, Taking control of your movements, squeezing your ass firmly in his hands, as you moan in delight you find his mouth on your breast, lightly nipping at your nipple. He starts to move you over him in a faster rhythm, your tits start to bounce grazing his chest as you place your hands on his shoulders, nails lightly digging into his skin, he continues to speed up the pace till your almost slamming into each other, hot fast and hard. Your cries of intense pleasure echo through out your room...he turns you around on his cock without pulling himself out of you, and he pulls your back to his chest and finds the same rhythm of fast and hard again, you arch back against Your hips bucking against him as he finds your secret spot between your neck and shoulder blade and gently bites it, causing you to scream out in pleasure....You feel your self about to cum as your pussy tightens even further if it was possible over his cock, never breaking the rhythm you both cum with each other. Sending waves of immense pleasure over you both.. He slows down and holds you close whispering sweet naughty things he wants to do to you later, after you both jump in bubble bath and have some fresh strawberries and Champagne....Mmmm I wonder how far this adventure will go.... To Be Continued... Rock My World Jack Slade was the man all women wanted. He was tall, lean, and muscular, with an ass that fit a pair of jeans in a way that made women wet for miles. As the lead singer of an up and coming rock band, Jack seduced his audience with a voice that could shift from high pitched and sweet, to low and seductive, to hard all in one breath. With longish black hair, ice blue eyes and pale skin, he looked like a cross between a medieval warrior and a fairy prince and was just as carelessly beautiful. The band had just finished their first album with some big record label, and had just completed their first tour with a final gig in their hometown. He was seeing his name in lights all over North America. Things were going great, except that at the tender age of twenty-nine, the lead singer of the Razor Blades found himself in one of those deep, emotional dilemmas. Though Jack had his pick of women, the truth was that deep down, he was lonely. "That is such a load of shit, Jack!" his drummer said to him one night. "We've got the world at our fucking feet! Didn't you enjoy those blonde twins I sent to your dressing room the other night?" "I did," he admitted. They'd been the model stereotype of hot blonde twins: bisexual, incestuous, and willing to fuck any musician they could get their hands on. He enjoyed them, just like he'd enjoyed every other gorgeous young groupie who'd knocked on his door, "but I'm getting bored with it." Kenny stared at his friend with wide eyes. "You are a fucking ingrate! Do you realize how much pussy you're going to get now that we've finally cut a record deal? It'll make those twins look like virgins! And you're telling me that screwing random, exotic women isn't doing it for you anymore! What the fuck is your problem?" His problem was that he was pushing thirty, and getting sick of fucking random women. They weren't really interested in him; they were interested in the whole rock star image, as if giving the lead singer a blow job would allow them to feel the thrill of a crowd. His drummer, Kenny Wicks, was only twenty-three and still filled with dreams of being surrounded by exotic women. Jack was past all that. Women had been throwing themselves at his feet since their first gig eight years ago, and now, just as his career was really taking off, he wanted something more. He wanted a woman, one woman, and not just any woman; someone he could talk to, who'd scream his name and no other when he fucked her. He wanted a woman who'd take him as he was; someone who'd see him as Jack and not just another rock star. There was no way to explain this to Kenny. His drummer would just berate him for being too old, so he shrugged and took a long pull on his beer. "I guess you're right," he mumbled. "You're fucking right I'm right! Now let's finish our beers, and I'll get you a stripper to tide you over until our gig tomorrow night. There will be so much ass at this thing they'll be tons for everybody!" 'Everybody' was the term Kenny used to describe their bassist and rhythm guitar, Ron and Dean. Ron, the bassist, was the rock music stereotype: long, curly hair, short mustache and beard, threadbare jeans, and a drug habit. Thankfully his addiction was to marijuana, a drug that made him pleasantly mellow and filled him with hundreds of interesting song ideas. Dean was a musical genius who flaunted his bisexuality by wearing lipstick and eye makeup on stage. Neither was with them that night; Ron was writing songs, and Dean had a date with the bouncer from the last club they'd played. Jack promised Kenny's overprotective mother that he'd keep an eye on him, so he was stuck with the kid, at least for tonight. Tossing back his beer, he let his friend drag him to the titty bars while he moped in the face of the strippers. He brought Kenny home when his friend was too drunk, and dumped him on his couch. He left a couple of aspirin and some water on the coffee table and headed to his room. Stripping down to his shorts, Jack fell into bed and slept. *** Jack loved being on stage. He loved the feel of his voice pouring through him into the microphone, the guitar strings under his fingers, and the adrenaline rush of being surrounded by screaming fans. He'd fallen in love with the rock stage playing in a high school talent show. Jack knew he had a gift, and he intended to ride it all the way to the top. The band was finishing their set and there were thousands of fans before him, but Jack's mind wasn't on them that night. A big fan of the Johnny Depp film Cry-Baby, he'd always believed that his dream girl would be right there in the audience. For some crazy reason, he was convinced that here, in a concert hall in his hometown, tonight was the night. As he led the Razor Blades into a slow ballad and watched cigarette lighters illuminate the audience, he scanned the crowd. Faces blurred into one another, and with a look of desperation he sighed and nearly lost his rhythm. She wasn't here Jack thought sadly, and with a shrug, he returned to the song, encouraging the crowd to sing with him. As people swayed to the seductive beat of Kenny's drums, one face emerged from the audience with shocking clarity. Jack's fingers tightened on his guitar, for he knew in his heart that he'd found her. She wasn't extraordinarily beautiful. Hair to her collarbone, cut to frame her face, dark almond eyes, full lips, and golden skin. Age-wise he placed her anywhere between seventeen and twenty-five. Surrounded by gorgeous young girls, it wasn't the woman's appearance that drew him, it was her cool demeanor. Amidst hundreds of people seduced by his melodies, her expression remained unmoved. Though he'd wooed nearly everyone in that hall, she seemed completely immune. From her place in the crowd, she stared him down with glittering dark eyes that said you're not so hot; I've seen your routine before, and it bores me. A challenge Jack thought with a smile, feeling lighthearted for the first time in weeks. She was a challenge; he hadn't had a real one in ages. With a winning smile he finished the song and bid the audience good night. As he swung his guitar strap over his shoulder he winked at her, and smiled wide when her lips twisted in a frown. As the stage went dark, he reached into his pocket and turned to a member of security. "Make sure that woman doesn't leave," he said, pointing to her retreating back and slipping the man a fifty. He wanted to freshen up a bit before he met her, so he wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel; mouth washed and took a long swig of water. He threw his jacket on and he grabbed his keys. "Jack, where's the fire?" Dean asked as he ran toward the exit. "In my heart, baby," Jack replied on a laugh. He was in the parking lot when he met up with a dejected looking security guard. "What happened? Where is she?" he demanded. The guard gestured to the jeep pulling out of the parking lot and speeding out of sight. "I tried, man," the guard replied, making no move to return Jack's money. "I managed to keep her a few minutes but she said I had no right. She whipped out her cell phone and started calling her lawyer. Your manager told me to let her go." Jack wasn't listening; he'd already jumped on his motorcycle. By this point the concert traffic had dissipated and his dream girl was getting away. He couldn't let that happen. Popping his helmet on, he sped off in the direction of the retreating jeep, his leather jacket flapping in the early autumn wind. He found the jeep parked in front of The Barn, one of the many bars offering live entertainment. Jack knew this place well enough; he'd played there many times as a struggling musician. He parked his bike on the street and was heading to the entrance when he caught sight of a figure leaning casually against the side of the building. "A motorcycle riding rock star; how original," his dream girl said cynically. She was dressed in faded jeans, calf length boots and a skin tight black leather vest that enhanced the curve of her breasts. Her languid pose showed off her slender body, curves, and the long, lazy line of her legs. She was smoking; Jack caught the unmistakable scent of marijuana. "You're a rock fan smoking pot, and you're accusing me of a lack of originality?" he asked. A corner of her mouth lifted. "Touché," she said. Jack was about to speak when a busboy poked his head out the door. "Five minutes, Lady," he told her. The woman nodded and took a final hit from her joint. Standing to her full five feet six inches, her eyes darkened and she glared at him. "I don't take kindly to being followed, Mr. Slade, so the next time you're looking for a fuck, stick to your groupies!" she said, and with those words, she handed him the joint and stormed into the bar. Jack stared at her retreating back and then at the joint in his hand. There was no point in letting it go to waste, so he indulged himself by taking a long drag before stuffing it in his pocket. "She doesn't like you, Jack," said a booming voice. Jack turned around; it was Mike Murphy, bar owner and the man who had single handedly lured a record company rep into his establishment, eventually leading to the Razor Blades' big break. With a smile Jack hugged the older man and slapped him on the back. "Enough of this mushy crap!" Mike barked with a grin. "Let's go inside. I haven't had a drink in over an hour!" "Your beer still terrible?" Jack asked, following him inside. The bar was surprisingly crowded that night, but with a little pushing and shoving Mike managed to find him a stool. "Everyone's a critic!" Mike muttered, slipping behind the bar. With expert hands, Mike built him a Guinness, and grabbing one for himself, he took a seat next to Jack. "Tell me about that girl," Jack said. "Is she one of your bar tenders?" Mike laughed, his gut shaking. "Good God no! She'd eat my customers alive!" "Then who is she?" Mike gestured toward the bar's tiny stage. The band was setting up, but the woman in question was no where to be found. Sound checks were made, and at a signal from the lead guitar, a Goth in his early twenties, the band began playing an eighties tune. Jack recognized the song. It was Joan Jett's "I Hate Myself for Loving You." As he began moving to the music, his dream girl emerged from the lady's room, microphone in hand. Jack's jaw dropped. Her timing was flawless, her moves, effortless, and her voice, dear lord! It was husky, sexy, and everyone in the bar could feel her anger, released in all its glory for the song. The bar was enslaved by her . . . and she knew it. You could see it in every move she made, shoving at the chests of awestruck college boys, patting the faces of tired baby boomers, and encouraging the women to sing with her as she shouted in the faces of their boyfriends. As she moved seamlessly into her second song; an original tune about a beaten down school girl, Jack finally understood why he'd singled her out. She was a rocker, pure and simple, and like him, she belonged on the stage. Her voice shifted as she moved into a slow sexy melody that showed off her impressive range, and this time, Jack couldn't help but think she was singing for him. She moved her hips now, grinding up against her guitarist, briefly sharing her mike with her bassist, a bald young black woman, and bending toward her drummer in a way that had Jack's eyes narrowing as the denim stretched across her backside. Then she turned and fixed those dark eyes on him, and Jack realized much to his embarrassment that he was hard; harder than he'd been in ages. The crowd was under her spell, and much to his chagrin he was as much a victim as the men around him. "Incredible isn't she?" Mike said in his ear, shutting Jack's mouth with a not-so-gentle hand before resuming his place behind the bar. "What's her name?" "She won't give me one; insists I refer to her by her stage name." "Which is . . .?" "Lady Death; the band is called the Undertakers." "And I thought my band name was cheesy." "How did you get stuck with a name like that anyway?" Jack smiled wryly. "Kenny came up with it. Ron and Dean liked it so much I was overruled," he said. The Undertakers were finishing their set, and 'Lady' was thanking the crowd and announcing they'd be there every Friday and Saturday night. Jack smiled eyeing the skin at the small of her back between her jeans and vest. He was going to be in town for the next few weeks working on songs for his second album. That gave him plenty of time. That was the extent of Jack's thoughts when, beautiful and sweaty, and smelling faintly of floral shampoo, Lady Death shoved a man off the stool next to his, whipped out a ten spot and demanded a Tsing Tao. Jack had never heard of it before, but in seconds Mike explained by bellowing: "You're still drinking those sissy beers? Let me build you a proper drink, Lady. You'll never touch this Chinese crap again!" "Are you going to give me my beer or do I have to jump the bar and kick your ass?" she demanded, putting her face directly in that of the old Irishman. The rest of the bar watched with bated breath, but Jack knew Mike and wasn't worried. He was more focused on the way her chest arched as she threw back her shoulders. In that instant, the two of them bust out laughing, and with a howl, Lady Death planted a smacking kiss on Mike's cheek. Mike, in turn thumped a bottle of beer in front of her. "Since when do you carry this foreign stuff?" Jack asked over the noise in the bar, as Lady Death took a long swig. "Since she asked me to . . . I'm a sucker for a pretty face," he said, exaggerating his accent to Lady's obvious delight. "You always were a charmer," she said with a smile. "I dug your set," Jack said conversationally. Lady Death's lips curved. "I noticed," she said gesturing absentmindedly at his lap. She took a pull on her beer, and bottle in hand, she bent toward the bar with what looked like exhaustion. Jack frowned, feeling his cheeks color as he leaned forward, subconsciously trying to hide the evidence. He wasn't sure he liked being put in his place. It was disconcerting, and arousing, making her more of a challenge than ever . . . and Jack had too much pride to back down. "Tell me, are you really that good, or was it the grass talking?" He expected, almost hoped she'd be insulted. Her spine stiffened as though she was, but she only laughed. She laughed with her whole body, tilting her head back. "The highest of compliments, simply stated." "It wasn't meant as a compliment," Jack insisted. "All right, whatever you say, Jack. You've won. Your place or mine?" That brought him up short. "Excuse me?" Lady frowned. "You're not deaf, Jack. I asked you a simple question." "I thought you said I should look elsewhere for a fuck?" Lady shrugged. "You're not looking. I am. Your place or mine?" Jack smiled. He was enjoying himself now. "I don't think so," he said. That caused her spine to stiffen even further and she glared at him with eyes so dark, he resisted the urge to lean away from her. "Excuse me?" she asked. "You followed me here, and now you're turning me down?" "Yep." "I don't get you. I thought you wanted too . . . " "I did. I changed my mind. You're too mouthy for me. I'm sorry I followed you," he said with more than a trace of condescension. Lady's eyes narrowed even further and her jaw clenched. With alarming speed she slapped him smartly across the face. The slap stung his cheek and snapped his head to one side. Her strength was surprising; her audacity, even more so, but he refused to lose his temper. "I'm sorry, did I say mouthy? I meant temperamental. It's that time of the month isn't it?" he suggested with a grin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun. Lady raised her hand, her fist clenched this time, but her band was behind her and ready. The Goth, and the drummer, a tattooed Asian man with spiked hair, grabbed her by the arms, holding her firmly in place. "It's not worth it!" the bassist was saying. Lady struggled for a second, and then she relaxed and smiled slowly, returning his grin. "Hey everybody . . . look! It's the lead singer of the Razor Blades!" she shouted. Jack was surrounded instantly. He barely saw her salute before the crowd thickened even further, and he was lost in a sea of faces, pens, and demands for autographs. "Don't break too many hearts Jack," Mike said from behind the bar. He'd been watching them with more than a trace of mischief. These two were going to fight like cats in a bag, and then they'd roll around in the sheets for weeks. He'd seen it hundreds of times, but found it particularly endearing in his two surrogate children. Oh to be young again. With a nostalgic sigh, he poured a few brews. *** Lola had just finished loading the van and bid Lucifer, Tommy, and Janie goodnight when she made it back to her jeep. Business was slowing down at the bar, so she wasn't the least bit surprised to see Jack Slade, in all his lean muscled glory, leaning against her car, glaring at her. "You know that wasn't very nice," he said, his voice ripe with irony. Lola sighed. She really didn't have time for this. She told Mortimer she'd be working late and couldn't join him for dinner with his parents. Tired and wasted was no way to greet her prim and proper fiancé the next morning. Why the hell had she propositioned him? Then he smiled in that cocky, over confident way men did when they were in the middle of a game of cat and mouse, and she knew why. Before she succumbed to marital mediocrity, she wanted one last thrill. The band was her dirty little secret. When she was on, she was filled with a sense of power and ecstasy she knew she couldn't get any other way . . . and then Jack Slade, lead singer of the up and coming Razor Blades, followed her to the Bar, and she wasn't so sure anymore. Not that it mattered; old blue eyes turned her down. "Is that why you're still here? You want to reprimand me? I don't have time for this" she moved toward the door of her car, but Jack stepped in front of her. "Back off!" "No," he said stubbornly. "What the hell do you want from me?" she demanded, more than a little exasperated. Jack arched a brow. "A kiss," he said simply. Their bodies were inches apart now; she was glaring at him, her muscles tensed with awareness. He smelled of sweat, and leather, with the barest hint of spicy musk. "You're not getting one. Back off!" she insisted. "Kiss me, and I'll back off," "I can't." "Why?" "I'm engaged," she said, whipping the ring from her pocket. There, she thought, that would shut him up, and we could both go our merry ways . . . but Jack didn't move. "He's not for you," Jack said decidedly. Lola's spine stiffened even further. "What the hell makes you think that?" Jack shrugged; they were close enough that the move rubbed his chest against her breasts. Lola bit her lip as her nipples tightened. "If he were, you'd be wearing that ring instead of carrying it around in your pocket AND he would have been here tonight. Where the hell is he anyway?" "None of your business! Get out of my way!" "Kiss me, and I'll step away from the door. I give you my word." She couldn't decide if he was more pretty or handsome. The eyes were on the girly side, but that jaw of his, while narrow, was definitely male, and that smile playing over his perfect mouth was damn near irresistible. Fine, she thought, frowning. He wanted a kiss? She'd give him one! Her hand slid over his chest, loving the feel of muscle beneath his thin cotton T-shirt, over his collarbone and the cords of his neck. She slid her long fingers into his hair, and pulled his face down to hers. Rock My World He tasted of Guinness, and man, and something so irresistible she couldn't name it. His fingers, callused from years of guitar playing, slid around her waist, over the bare skin at the small of her back, holding her against him. He was hard, and the muscles in her thighs loosened against the unmistakable arousal under his jeans. This was nothing like kissing Mortimer. He didn't inspire lust at this level; arousal that was so sharp, so dark, so overwhelming that all she could think about was falling into bed with him. She didn't protest when he slid the fingers of his free hand under her hair and cupped the back of her head. She didn't fight him when he used his grip to change the angle of the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips to seduce hers. She didn't fight him, because God help her, she couldn't. It was the sound of Mike clearing his throat that brought that jarring return to sanity. Her spine stiffened instantly and with her arms still wrapped around Jack, she turned her head. "Kiddies," he said in that Irish lilt of his, "as enjoyable as this display is, and believe me it is, you're distracting the customers. You're distracting them SO much they're forgetting to buy drinks, and that's bad for business! So if you must do what you're doing, find somewhere a bit more private, will you?" "That's the best idea I've heard all day," Jack said, his arm locked around her waist. Before she could respond, Mike rushed inside. Lola turned to Jack and glared. "You got your kiss, now let me go." Jack's grip tightened. "You said you'd back off if I kissed you. I kissed you. Back off!" "I never said I'd back off," Jack countered, "I said I'd step away from the door, and I did." They were still leaning against the car, his arm locking him to her, but he was no longer blocking the door. "Don't make me hurt you," she said irritably. "All right, tell me your real name." "Screw you!" "Fine," Jack said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "We can stay here all night, but that vest you're wearing can't be very warm." "Oh please!" Lola had enough. She finally loosed the fist she'd been holding ready since he'd turned her down, and punched him smartly in the stomach. While he gasped for breath, she shoved him away and got in her car. As she gunned the motor, she rolled down the window. He looked stunned, and pissed, and adorable. She decided she'd reward him. "The name's Lola," she said with a smile, and with those words, she drove off. *** It had been a long night. First, she went to the concert, then she got in a fight with concert security, and then there was the performance, and making out with Jack against her Jeep. God she'd been stupid! What the hell had possessed her to do that? Lola's hands tightened on the wheel. Boy did it feel good. The scent and taste of him, all those hard edges against her; it was nothing like Mortimer's soft tummy. She needed sex, and soon. When she realized where her thoughts were going, Lola stopped short and shoved them brutally aside. She'd convinced her fiancé that she was the no sex before marriage type though she'd secretly lost her virginity to a horrible lay, just to get it over with. Unwilling to completely deceive him, she'd been respectfully celibate in the many months she'd been with Morty, and now . . . Dammit! Damn it to hell! She was frustrated, and hot, her temper raging as she pulled into her driveway. Then she saw Jack's motorcycle parked in front of her house, and there, sitting on her stoop, was Jack, grinning like an idiot. "Aren't you going to ask how I got your address?" he asked. She didn't look all that surprised to see him. "What would be the point?" Lola shrugged irritably. "You're here aren't you?" Jack resisted the urge to tell Lola she was beautiful when she was angry. Her cheeks were flushed, her breasts rising and falling with every breath, but remembering that blow to the stomach, he wisely held his tongue. She'd been SO angry, grumbling and pounding furiously on the wheel of her car that she didn't see or hear him follow her. He couldn't decide what had shocked him more, that gut wrenching punch or the make out session that had sucked the blood right out his head and had it pooling firmly, permanently in his lap. It had been a lucky guess on his part as to which house was hers. He didn't know what to do now that he was here. He was hoping she'd make a move. Lola could argue until she was blue in the face, but she was a willing participant in what had happened outside Mike's bar. She'd grabbed at his hair and groped his chest and kissed him back, all but melting against him. She'd arched her hips and clutched at him and moaned in a way that told him she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. So he waited as she moved up the walkway and up the stairs, stopping until she was so close he could only see her calves, encased in shiny black leather. She waited for him to stand, and move backwards so he was facing her on the porch, and then, with a hand on his chest, she pushed him aside and opened her front door. As she stepped inside, he waited for the door to slam in his face, but it didn't. To his surprise, she paused in her foyer and said something to the effect of: "Oh to hell with it!" and in that very instant her hand snapped out, and he was yanked inside. On a laugh, Jack stumbled, and was brought up short as she shoved him brutally against a wall. Her mouth was on his instantly. Her tongue pried his lips apart as her greedy fingers forced the jacket off his shoulders. Jack had thought he couldn't get any harder. He was wrong. As Lola's hands moved frantically over his chest and down to his stomach, he fought for control. She was trying to rape him, he thought, smiling against her lips as she jerked his shirt out of his waistband. He couldn't have that. With startling speed he grabbed both her wrists and rolled, pinning her against the wall of what appeared to be the beginning of a stairway. With his mouth locked to hers, he reached between them and pulled her vest open with both hands. Jack broke the kiss and looked down. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were incredible, round, and just big enough to fill his long fingered hands, topped with pinkish brown nipples. "God," he said with obvious pleasure, and grabbing both her wrists, he pinned them against the wall while he bent his head and tasted her. As he ran his tongue over her nipples, Lola's back arched. She gasped with every breath, hissing when he teased her with his teeth. "Where's the damn bedroom?" he demanded, unsure of how long he could wait. "Up the stairs," she said on an uneven breath. Jack didn't want to take her there just yet. He let Lola jerk his shirt off before dropping to his knees in front of her. With his teeth, Jack yanked the button of her jeans open and pulled her zipper down. He reached inside her jeans, past red velvet panties, and deep inside her. She was dripping wet, and as he found her g-spot and rubbed gently, she screamed softly. She clamped around him and began rocking her hips violently against his fingers. Jack waited until her inner muscles became vise-like around his fingers, until he knew by her gasps and how taut she held herself that she was on the brink. As she clamped around him and silently begged Jack to relieve the tension, he jerked her jeans down and put his tongue on her clit. She came instantly, violently, and in that moment he heard it. The thing he'd been looking for the woman destined to be his bride. When she gasped and convulsed and arched against him, it was HIS name she screamed. She only did it once . . . but once was all Jack needed. It felt as though his heart had been squeezed, and with a smile, he rode out the last of her convulsions and kissed his way up her body. He paused only once to savor her gorgeous breasts before scooping her up into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. She wasn't all that heavy, but limp as a wet noodle. "Don't you DARE fall asleep on me, Lola. We're not finished yet." Lola laughed against his neck. "I hope not," she said breathlessly, and then she giggled. "The bedroom's that way," she added, pointing in the opposite direction to where he was heading. Jack was there in a heartbeat, standing in front of her king-sized four poster bed. He set her on her feet in front of it, and seeing a couple of heavy candles on the bedside table, he whipped out his lighter. He wanted to see her this first time, watch every mood on her face. As the tapers filled the room with soft light he went to her and pushed the vest off her shoulders. In a surprising burst of energy Lola smiled, her full lips curving and shoved him back on the bed. Her boots were off and she was on top of him in seconds. She sat on his waist, pinning his wrists above his head. "You had your chance, Jack Slade. It's my turn," she said, kissing him fiercely. Jack relaxed instantly, submitting to her touch, loving the feel of her smooth gold skin against his. Lola relinquished her hold on his wrists to run her hands over his shoulders, chest and waist. Jacked sucked in a breath as she opened his belt with both hands and jerked his jeans open, rolling off of him to pull her jeans and underwear off. He watched as miles of golden, slender leg emerged in the dim light while he sat up to chuck his own clothes. The minute he was naked Lola climbed on top of him, pinning his arms. She eyed his length with interest before bracing herself above him and slowly sinking down. "Oh sweet Jesus," she hissed between her teeth. She was full to capacity. It was overwhelming, almost painful, but incredible all at the same time. She was no expert on size, but this was amazing. Beneath her, Jack watched her with eyes hazed with lust . . . but there was something else. He looked at her as though she was the only woman in the world. It was flattering, arousing; the man had thousands of women at his disposal, and yet, for whatever reason, he'd gone to a crazy amount of trouble to get in her bed. On a moan she moved, arching her back, knowing instinctively how to rock her body so the head of his cock rubbed her g-spot. Lola moved slowly at first, loving the feel of him inside her, treating this one incredible fuck like he was her last meal. In a way, Jack was a last meal. In two months she'd have to give it all up; the band, the music, the bar, and this addictive sensation between panic arousal that Jack Slade had been causing since the moment he rode in. She did everything she could to prolong the pleasure, loving the slide of him inside her, his every gasp and moan, and the feel of those guitar calluses on her skin; caressing her breasts and holding her hips. When the feeling became too much; when Jack began arching his hips upward, Lola gave in to herself and moved her hips quickly, frantically, until she was overcome. She moved like a woman possessed, riding out the shakes like a ship in a storm. As the contractions subsided, she bent down and kissed him, welcoming the salty taste of his sweat, and the feel of his lips and tongue against hers. She let out a strangled sound of protest when he rolled her beneath him, instinctively locking her legs with his. Jack held himself deep inside her, but he wouldn't move. It didn't make sense; he hadn't come yet. In confusion, Lola opened her eyes. "This isn't going to end tonight," he said softly, pinning her arms when she began to struggle. This couldn't continue after tonight, she thought in a panic. She had a life to get back to and just as her thoughts began racing even faster, Jack moved inside her, purging every thought but the feel of him inside her. He kissed her neck, licking and biting her as she arched. He looked deeply into the darkness of her eyes with the icy blue of his until her whole world became one of sensation and icy intensity. She came several times underneath him, arching her hips and grabbing his butt with both hands, frantic from those slow, deep thrusts inside her. It was only when she was completely devastated that he sped up, moving quickly, violently until he thrust once, twice and held before collapsing on top of her. After a moment, he rolled off of her, and instead of passing out, Jack pulled her against him. "Well," Lola said. Jack was really only lover number three. She never knew what to say to a man after sex. "That was . . . " Jack chuckled. "Incredible? Amazing? How about earth shaking?" "Alright," she said cautiously. She wasn't used to post coital banter. "Hmmm," Jack said. "You sound unsure of yourself. As a man it is my honor bound duty to fix that," he declared, rolling on top of her. "Wait a second! I didn't mean . . ." Lola was laughing, giddy from all the orgasms. "Yes you did," he said, running his hand from the side of her breast down to her hip. "You're hard again," Lola said, not bothering to hide her surprise. He braced his weight on his arms and slipped his legs between hers, spreading her wide and pulling a gasp from her. "I have incredible powers of recovery, Lady Death. Get used to it," he said with a grin, and then he slid deep inside her. It was several hours before either of them got to sleep. *** Jack had never felt better in his whole life. He had found his dream girl, and had spent the last several hours in bed with her. She was smart, sassy, talented, and hell on wheels in bed. Long after she'd passed out, he watched her sleep, loving the serenity on her face as her breasts rose and fell with every breath. How could he have ever thought she wasn't beautiful? She had perfect cheekbones, full lips, rich dark eyes, and hair that slid like corn silk through his fingers. But she wasn't his yet. There was still the matter of the fiancé to deal with. He looked around the room. There wasn't a trace of him anywhere. No picture, no nothing. Whoever this guy was, he clearly didn't mean that much to her, and that meant he wouldn't be that hard to get rid of. With those thoughts in mind, Jack blew out the candles and slept. *** Jack woke slowly to the sound of someone muttering and cursing. On a yawn, he rolled, reaching instinctively for her. His hand met empty air, and with a childish sound of disappointment, Jack opened his eyes. Lola was entering the room wearing a prim button down shirt and long skirt. Her hair was tied neatly to the back of her head, and on her nose was a pair of wire rimmed glasses. He saw the contact lenses case on the night stand and briefly fantasized about her wearing nothing but those glasses. He expected her to greet him with a smile, but she didn't, she simply tossed him his shorts. "This was fun, Jack, but my fiancé's due here in an hour. You have to get out of here." Jack stared at her for a second as he pulled his shorts on, and then at the plate in her hands. It contained what looked like eggs and fried rice. "Filipino breakfast," she explained, handing him the plate and pulling a fork from her pocket. Jack took a bite, and smiled wide. A body like that and she could cook too! He'd never felt so lucky. "Filipino, huh? I thought you might have half been Latina, but I guess I was wrong. Tell me about this fiancé of yours." From the look on her face, he might as well have been speaking German. "Why?" she asked suspiciously. "I want to know what I'm up against," he replied. "You're not up against anything," she argued. "Great!" he said brightly. "You're dumping the guy!" Lola laughed. "No, you dumb fuck! You seem to have gotten it in your head that last night was more than what it was." Jack arched a brow as he chewed on his food. "What was it?" "Amazing sex" she said with a smile, and then her head popped up, as though she remembered, and picking last night's jeans off the floor, she retrieved her engagement ring. She stashed the jeans, vest, and leather boots in her closet, along with a bag of makeup and slid the ring onto her finger. That said more to Jack than any argument she was going to make. The fiancé was obviously planning to marry the demure, homemaking woman Lola was trying to be. Jack knew better. At the bar, rocking with her band, she radiated power and life. Puttering around her room, tidying up, she looked stifled, angry and frustrated. It was all but coming off of her in waves. "Jack, finish your breakfast. I don't have time for whatever it is you're contemplating, so please get out of my life." "I ought to turn you over my knee for that, Lola," he said, rubbing his hand over the sudden ache in his chest, but he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. "Where's my shirt and jacket?" "Downstairs, near the DOOR." "I'm not leaving," he decided. "I'll call the cops." "No you won't. I won't stay long. I just want to meet the guy." "How am I going to explain you?" "What do you do for a living?" Lola looked embarrassed. "I sell children's clothes." "Great! I'm your boss!" "You can't be!" "Why not?" "Because my boss is my father to be, that's why!" Ah, Jack thought, one more piece of the puzzle. "C'mon Lola . . . let me meet the guy. You look like a smart woman . . . " "I AM!" "Think of an excuse." It looked like Lola was going to fight him on this, then a slow smile spread across her unpainted lips. "Fine; you really want to meet him? There's a brunch at Mortimer's parent's house on Sunday, are you free?" Mortimer? Jeez, even his name was dorky. Sunday was his only day off, but he wanted to meet the guy, so he had to oblige. "Sure, what should I wear?" "White shirt, black pants; I'll tell the catering company I'm sending them some extra help." Twenty minutes later, Jack was out of her house, a 1920s style duplex that had been converted into a single family home. Judging from the photos on the wall, it had been a family inheritance. As he mounted his motorcycle, he saw a fancy Lexus pull into her driveway. The man who got out of it matched Lola's outfit but not her personality. There was nothing striking about his dishwater brown hair, sallow skin, and timid slouch. He was dressed sedately in khakis and a collared shirt and had padding about the middle. The man turned and stared at him for a second through thick glasses, eyeing Jack's jeans and motorcycle with more than a little contempt. The guy had nouveau riche all but tattooed on his forehead. Mortimer turned to the door as it opened, greeting Lola with a sedate peck on the lips. Jack didn't feel a twinge of jealousy; because he read her easily. It wasn't all consuming passion on her face, but that kind of condescending, impatient affection one would usually have for a bratty child. Until Sunday, Jack thought, and with those thoughts in mind, he went to meet his band. *** Every time Lola walked into one of Mortimer's family functions, it was as though she'd stepped right into the re-make of Ira Levin's "The Stepford Wives." His sisters, sisters, female cousins, and mother all sported blond hair in nearly identical styles and all of them wore blouses and skirts by whichever designer was famous that day. None of them worked, even though most of them had servants to care for their kids, and every single one of them gave up their right to intelligent conversation the instant they sat down at the hundred foot table Oswald Grayer had ordered custom made for his dining room. "Where was their personality or their sense of self respect?" Lola wondered. She wanted to shake them all, slap them across the face and scream, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" but she pushed the thought aside. She'd probably have to bleach her hair after the wedding, and burn all her pants. She supposed it could be worse. Unlike the women around her, chatting about such trivialities as what such and such was wearing at such and such an event, Lola had gotten an education; her mother had insisted on it. She had her own mind and her own politics. So what if she'd have to keep her mouth shut about them from here on in? At least she had them. Rock My World "That's why the sexual revolution was a horrible thing! It took perfectly decent young men and turned them into dirty communists! What it did to women was an even bigger nightmare! It took respectable ladies and turned them into a bunch of man hating whores! When my father realized what was happening he shouted: not in my family, and he made sure my mother, sisters and I knew our place. I obeyed because that's what we did in those days. By the time I was grown up it was ingrained. I follow his ideas even now and look how my family's prospered!" Oswald was saying, opening his arms like some feudal lord. Sure, Lola thought, you childish overbearing sack of shit! You've created a family of fucking robots! Lola felt her ears turn red with contempt and unexpressed rage. Around her, the women in his family were nodding silently, smiling like a bunch of doped up supermodels. She looked over at Mortimer but he didn't object to anything his father was saying. He never did. "Why are you doing this?" a voice whispered behind as a plate with arranged fruit and a deviled egg was put in front of her. It was Jack who spoke. "Because the vagabond life of a rocker is no way to live," she said under her breath. "It's where you belong," he whispered back. She turned to him without thinking; a venomous reply on the tip of her tongue, but Jack had already disappeared into the kitchen. "What's wrong, Lola?" Mortimer asked, finally noticing the irritation on her face. Lola smiled slightly, but she knew it didn't reach her eyes. "Nothing honey," she said, gently tapping his hand. He was so sweet in his own way, but utterly spineless, not that Lola blamed him. Oswald had cut Morty's balls off early on, and his elder brothers were no different. She couldn't decide who was more pathetic in this family, the men or the women. For the first time in over a year, she began to doubt her decision to marry in. That's it. She was going to have to kick Jack's ass. It was the only way to purge her doubts and ease her cold feet. After the brunch, when nearly all the guests had left and the catering service was loading its gear into their van she called Jack over. "Mortimer, this is Jack Slade. He's an old friend of mine from High School; he said he needed a job so I put in a good word for him with the caterers." "That was nice of you, Lola. Glad to meet you," he said, extending a pudgy hand. Jack watched Mortimer carefully, and realizing that he didn't recognize him from the day before, he shook it warmly. From behind her glasses, Lola watched him, all but daring him to hint at what had transpired between them. Jack knew that was what she was expecting so he did nothing. "I owe Lola big time," Jack said with a smile, playing along. "I was hard up for cash. Your fiancé saved me." "She can't help it," Mortimer said from behind his coke bottle glasses. "She's such a nurturing soul. She'll make a wonderful mother," he continued, putting a proprietary arm around her shoulders and squeezing. Lola clearly didn't like it for the smile on her face was more of a wince than anything. He could see her fighting the urge to shove him off, and he smiled wider. He was gaining ground. "I've heard so much about you! When's the wedding?" Jack asked. "Two months," Lola said. "Just long enough for Lola to tie up loose ends and find a realtor to sell her house." That struck a nerve for Lola stiffened instantly. Mortimer clearly hadn't mentioned it to her before, and doing so in front of a third party was just plain dirty. He'd come to the brunch prepared to dislike the guy, but at first hand, Mortimer seemed like an ok guy; then Jack served the food and watched as the blowhard of a patriarch that was her father to be spouted a ton of bullshit so pungent anyone with half a brain would have called him on it. Jack saw the patriarch for what he was, and judging from the temper bubbling in Lola's eyes, so did she. Mortimer, her beloved fiancé, was completely oblivious. He and everyone else at the table sat nodding their agreement to EVERYTHING the old gasbag said; it was like watching some freaky TV show; "The Stepford Wives" meets the Borg drones from Star Trek. There was so much ass kissing going on, he wouldn't have been surprised if the lip gloss the women wore was actually hemorrhoid cream. Instead of approaching Lola directly about the idea of selling her house, he broached the idea in front of a third party when social decorum forbade her from making a scene. He knew the idea wasn't his; Jack had heard enough around the house to know Mortimer had neither the intelligence nor the courage to come up with his own ideas. He, like everyone else in that family, was just a mouthpiece for anything his father wanted. And Lola was planning to marry this guy? Was she insane! Jack wanted her desperately for himself, but there was more now. He wanted to get her as far away from the Grayer family as humanly possible . . . even if that meant losing her. He was a fool in love and he knew it. "Well, it was great seeing you again Jack, but Mortimer and I must be off. We're going to a movie." "Really? What movie?" "That new documentary," Mortimer said sheepishly. "Lola wanted to see that action film, but my father says those movies rot your brain." Jack stared at Lola quizzically, but he shook Mortimer's hand and headed toward the waiting van. He turned briefly and winked at her over his shoulder. Things were far from over between them, and with that thought in mind, he went his own way. *** "Does your band know you're planning to quit?" Jack asked her. Lola jumped. She got home exhausted from a week's worth of work fighting cheapskates, and was slipping the key into the lock when Jack stepped out of the shadows. "What do you want?" she asked wearily. "Answer the question," he said stubbornly. "No, of course they don't. What do you want from me, Jack?" "Why are you marrying this guy?" he demanded, his eyes radiating with an emotion she couldn't identify. He was in a mood tonight, and Lola knew from her limited experience that he was going to be impossible to get rid of. "Why does any woman marry any man? Love? I don't believe in it. I just want some safety." "This isn't the seventeen hundreds, Lola. You're plenty safe. You have a band that loves you, and I'm guessing an inheritance just big enough to keep you afloat for as long as you need. Why would you want to marry into that family? They're a bunch of relics! They'll snuff out everything that makes you special!" His words came like a blow to the stomach, and in her weary state, she searched frantically for that fighting urge. "Pretty speech Jack, but what I do with my life is entirely my business. Why the fuck won't you back off!" "Because I'm in love with you, Goddamn it!" Something in Lola's chest got very tight but she forced herself to laugh. "You can't possibly! You've known me what? Four days! Why don't you hop on your motorcycle and drive off into the sunset? I want to go bed!" Lola slid her key into the lock, and had just opened the door when she heard Jack behind her. "Fine! You want to go to bed? You've got it!" he said. With a brutal grip on her arm he spun her around and tossed her over his shoulder. As Lola pounded on this back and kicked at his stomach, she realized that Jack, the man who'd seemed so cool, so incapable of getting angry had finally lost his temper. "Let me go!" she demanded as he kicked the door shut behind them and began walking up the stairs. "No! You wouldn't listen to me, so I'm not listening to you!" "You want to make your point by raping me? What kind of man are you?" Jack's spine stiffened briefly, but he continued up the stairs. "This isn't going to be rape, honey. There will be screaming, but I can promise you it won't be from pain or fear." He dumped her on her bed, pinning her with his body, ignoring every blow of her fists as he reached around her. Using the sashes hanging from the posts of her bed, he fastened her wrists securely despite her struggles. He did the same with both her ankles, yanking her shoes off while she kicked at him. Jack grabbed a pair of scissors from the night stand and reached under skirt. With gentle fingers he cut her panties away and slid his fingers deep. "You're wet, Lola. Does this excite you? Being tied up and at my mercy?" he slid his finger over her clit and smiled smugly when she moaned. "Fuck you!" she gasped. "I will, but I want to have a bit of fun first." Jack bent and taking her hips in his hands, he put his tongue to her, holding her steady as she writhed and rocked beneath him. He was relentless and, bound as she was she was his to do with as he pleased. Jack was merciless, tasting and teasing her, sliding his fingers back inside her only when she was cumming, screaming his name. The sound of it egged him on even further, and wiping his mouth on her skirt, he reached up tore her blouse open, sending buttons everywhere. He snapped her bra open and took her nipple in his mouth, pinching the other between his fingers as he palmed her breast. "This isn't fair," Lola moaned helplessly. Her eyes were closed, her breath coming in shallow gasps but Jack wasn't feeling very merciful. He ran his other hand slowly down her tensed stomach and between her thighs, gently holding her as her hips ground upward begging for something to penetrate. "Life isn't fair, Lola," he said, and then he slid three fingers deep, rubbing her G-spot until she writhed and screamed so loud he wondered if the neighbors could hear them. He brought her up at least three times before he jumped off of her to shed his clothes. As he disrobed, he saw that she was wearing her engagement ring. He pulled it off her finger and dropped it before sliding between her thighs. "Open your eyes, Lola," he commanded. To his surprise, she didn't fight him, she simply opened her eyes. That rich chocolate brown had darkened to a deep onyx, and as she licked her lips, his mouth was on hers instantly, kissing her deeply. "I love you Lola," he said, sliding deep inside her. "I love you," he said, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. "I won't let you cum until you say you love me too," he continued, slowing down when her body tensed. It was like that for what felt like hours, until finally, with tears in her eyes, the words tumbled from her lips and she arched as she came, offering herself and everything she was to him. Jack's heart swelled and he made love to her over and over that night, only the next time, he was gentler. She was his, and he worshiped her, tasting and teasing and pleasuring until finally, sweaty and exhausted, he untied her limbs and they slept, locked in each other's arms, a beautiful, complex whole. *** "I didn't mean it," she said the next morning, finding the ring on the floor and sliding it meaningfully onto her finger. "Controlling me with sex was just dirty," "Sex IS dirty honey . . . when it's done properly," he said with a smile. "Now is not the time to be joking around. Get dressed and get the fuck out!" She threw his clothes at his chest with a violence that no longer shocked or bothered him. "You know, Lola, I wondered, after that first night, seeing you with your glasses and that domestic costume whether that was the real you: that sweet vapid domestic moonlighting as a femme fatale. I watched you at that brunch for any sign of submissive stupidity and I didn't see any. Anyone with more than half a brain could see you seething, and yet for some stupid reason you continue to insist on marrying this guy," he said, pulling his clothes on. "Are you finished?" "You're incredibly stubborn," he added, pulling his boots on. "Your point?" "You want to fight dirty, Lola? You got it. See you at the Barn tonight," and with those words and a friendly salute, he slipped out to make a few plans *** Lola loved being on stage. As she sang into the mike, her back arched, her voice flowing through her, knowing the crowd hung on every sound, it was almost better than sex. She owned them. She was queen and the audience was her subjects. The bar seemed particularly crowded that night, but when she made her dramatic appearance, the hoards parted, clearing her way to the stage. There was a suit at the bar tonight, watching her, along with what looked like the members of the Razor Blades. The drummer had his sticks out, and was jamming to the music; the two guitarists eyed her with what looked like understanding and stoned admiration. From behind the bar, Mike watched with a knowing smile on his face. What the fuck was going on? Lola couldn't let it bother her; she had a set to finish. The first few songs went off without a hitch, and then in the middle of the set, Lucifer, her lead guitarist and friend disappeared. They'd rehearsed for hours and he fucks off in the middle of a set? Where the fuck was he? Then Lola's eyes narrowed in suspicion. In Lucifer's place, despite hours of rehearsal, was Jack, his signature black electric guitar covered in purple flames slung over his shoulder keeping perfect time with their original music. He'd warned her this morning that he planned to fight dirty, and she was willing to bet that the suit and the band were part of whatever it was Jack had in mind. Lola resisted the urge slap the smirk off his face. She was a professional, and she wasn't going to let his gorgeous ass throw her off tonight. Her back arched, Lola sang with her whole heart, treasuring these last moments of freedom, of power, and the knowledge that as long as she was on the stage, the people before her would do anything she wanted. She brought her microphone to Janie, her bassist for the harder songs, gave props to Tommy, her drummer, and indulged herself by slapping Jack's ass. When she finished the set, she and the Undertakers finished to the loudest, rowdiest applause she'd ever heard, and with a smile, she thanked them, and gave props to her band. This time Mike had their drinks ready for them; an Asian beer for her and Tommy, and a sex on the beach for Janie. Lucifer; she discovered, much to her irritation, was seated at the bar, sharing a pitcher of beer with the Razor Blades. "What are you up to, Jack Slade?" "I'll show you. Lola, meet my friend, Spencer Dominic, record exec," he said casually gesturing to the suit at the bar. The man in question moved off his bar stool and emphatically shook her hand. As she watched Janie and Tommy's faces light up, Lola felt gut wrenched. Lucifer had obviously been chatting with the exec during the set, and was as ecstatic as a Goth would allow himself to be. The suit was talking about the possibility of a record deal, making the guilt she felt at her plan to abandon the band all the stronger. A young man with bleached hair she recognized as the drummer for the Razor Blades came forward, his beer mug raised. "So YOU'RE the chick who's had Jack's nuts in a bunch! With all the pussy we were getting I didn't get why Jack would suddenly chose to put his dick under lock and key. Now I get it!" Lola could only clink her bottle against his glass in response. "We've been talking," Dean, Jack's guitarist was saying on behalf of the whole band, judging by their affirmative nods. "How would you and the Undertakers feel about opening for us on our next tour?" Her band was slapping her on the shoulder, and hooting their excitement. From his seat with Spencer Dominic and his band, Jack stared her down, daring her to tell them the truth. He was laying the entire world at her feet, and just when Lola thought she couldn't possibly feel any worse . . . "Lola! What the hell are you doing here!" said a voice. The signature squeak identified him instantly, and with her spine stiff she turned and looked directly into Mortimer's horrified face. He was, of course, accompanied by Oswald, his father, who eyed her with a combination of contempt and disgust. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" was her instantaneous reply. "We got an anonymous phone call saying we should come to this bar, and that it concerned you. I thought it might have been blackmail or worse, but instead we find you here, painted up and drinking like a tramp, and acting like one too!" Mortimer's father bellowed. Lola unconsciously looked down at herself. She wore a skin tight black T-shirt, leather gauntlets and boots, and a long skirt with high slits on both sides. She was comfortable like this, empowered even, and the control that had kept her from duking her precious boss was quickly melting away. Her spine stiffened instantly, and from a corner of her eye, she saw Mike reach for the bat he kept behind the bar for particularly unsavory customers. "Lola, what's going on?" Mortimer asked. It was time to fess up. "I play in a band," she said simply. "She's actually the lead singer," Jack said from behind her. Lola raised her hand to silence him. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had called them. "But you're giving it up when we get married right?" Mortimer asked hopefully. "You'll forget all this music nonsense and become a proper wife for my son, won't you?" Oswald was saying. Behind her she could all but sense the tension in her band. The fat was well and truly in the fire. All around her, the bar had been shocked into silence, eagerly taking in the beginnings of a real life soap opera. Jack was making her deal with the face off she'd been avoiding for a year now. She had to make a decision between Jack and the band, and the Stepfordian mediocrity the Grayers offered her. Oswald took her silence as consent, and with a hand on her arm, he began dragging her and his son toward the door. "We'll get the whore paint off of you, and into some proper clothes, and we can forget tonight ever happened," Oswald continued, and in that instant, Lola's control snapped. In one move, she dug in her heels and jerked her arm from Oswald Grayer's grip. "Lola, what are you doing?!" Mortimer demanded. "I'm sorry honey, it'll never work," she began, reaching into her pocket and handing him the ring. "I love thinking for myself, and I could never do that married to you." "I TOLD YOU she was no good!" Oswald bellowed, shouting at his son. "I had a proper, WHITE woman all lined up for you. A nice, PROPER girl, just like your mother and sisters, but YOU didn't want to be like your brothers. YOU wanted a mongrel whore!" he said, slapping Mortimer across the face. "THAT'S ENOUGH!!!" Lola shouted. "Silence, you bitch!" Oswald said, turning to her with disgust. "This isn't any of your business anymore!" "I just wanted to tell, before you could fire my ass . . ." she didn't bother modifying her speech the way she used to around him, "that I quit, and if you hit Morty one more time, so help me I'll . . ." her ex fiancé was spineless, and pathetic, but he wasn't a bad guy, and he didn't deserve to be humiliated in public. "You'll what?" Oswald dared her. Lola turned to the Razor Blades and record exec. "You wouldn't withdraw the possibility of a record deal if I slugged this guy, would you?" Mike began to laugh from his post behind the bar, and Spencer Dominic gave her permission with a wave of his hand. "Thank you," she said politely, and with that speed Jack had so admired, she punched Oswald Grayer so hard she knew he'd have a shiner in the morning. "You bitch! I'll have you charged with assault!" "Oh shut up you overblown sack of shit!" she said, only to hear applause erupt all around her. She looked at Mortimer with a tinge of regret. "I'm sorry it didn't work out," "So am I," Mortimer said sadly, and with a sigh, he took hold of his father's arm. "Don't worry about the assault charges; there won't be any," he said, and as activity resumed in the bar, he quietly took his father home. Rock My World Ch. 02 He slips inside the tub behind me, and grabs a loofa sponge, he pours a generous amount of my favorite raspberry body wash on it and works in to a lather. Gently he starts to wash my back taking time to trace slow circles into my back, watching my body react to his every touch. He likes to watch me, perceptive to my every thought, my body language, my voice and it's tones, and especially my face. I am like a walking talking book of emotion and he thinks despite my weight I am sexy as hell, at least he likes to tell me that all the time...and I am starting to believe him, not that I would admit that to just any one. I softly sigh in relaxation as he touches my back, having already dropped the loofa to float in the water. He tells me to lean back so my head is in his lap and my hair is fully in the water. His hands massage my scalp, making my long blonde/brown, hair billow out in the water like a cloud of silken darkness. A little moan escapes my mouth..and he smiles down at me. I slowly sit up and he reaches around my waist and pulls me in to a warm embrace, his fingers moving lazily over my breasts and nipples. He knows exactly what he is doing, and so do I. I lean back and give him a kiss, my soft lips meeting his, my tongue slowly probing into his mouth, finding his own tongue, teasing and tasting. We break our kiss and he grabs my shampoo, and pours some into his hand and then he works it into my hair, massaging my scalp some more. He grins as he hears me purr and lean back into his hands, all the while my hand is snaking around behind me lightly tracing up his inner thigh. My hand finds what it is looking for and I slowly run my fingers along his cock, I can feel him hardening under my touch. He groans softly in my ear as I touch him, and his mouth finds my neck and he nibbles on it lightly grazing his teeth against my skin. I hiss in pleasure as I feel electrified from his touch to my sensitive neck. He tells me to lie back down in the water so I can rinse off the shampoo, I remove my hand from behind me and I slide down into the water again. His hands run thru my hair rinsing all of the shampoo out of it. I slide backwards so my head is in his lap and decide to give him a show as I let my hand run down my body and between my legs. His eyes grow wide in anticipation, as I spread my legs so he can see every move I make. Slowly I run my finger over my slit, dipping just barely into my pussy, I do this a few times more teasingly before I spread my pink folds open, revealing my swollen clit. I start to rub up and down over my sensitive little nub, I can feel my nipples start to harden, though it seems I am not the only one whose noticed. His hands start to kneed my breasts while pinching my nipples between his fingers, my breathing becomes shallow as I run my fingers faster over my clit, occasionally dipping into my hot tight pussy. I look deep into his eyes and start to sit back up and turn around but he stops me from facing him and he pulls me back against his chest. I can feel his hard cock against my ass and back, he starts to kiss my neck slowly working his way to my shoulder blade. I am also aware of his hand sliding between my legs, rubbing against my clit, as he starts to rub faster over it, he bites down gently between my neck and shoulder, instantly sending me into an orgasm. I cry out, as my body starts to quiver, and he grabs my hips and pulls me up positioning me over his hard cock. I move my hands to the sides of the bath tub and I slowly lower myself down over him, filling myself fully. We start to rock slowly, his fingers still on my sensitive nub, flicking over it, my hips grinding down as I love how he feels deep inside me. I lean back against his chest, My hands move over my breasts massaging them, pinching my nipples between my fingers. I hear a soft moan escape you as you watch me touch myself, you grab my hips more forcefully and tell me to stand up and bend over my hands against the wall. I move slowly off of you and do so, as you reach around and un plug the drain, and turn on the shower hot water cascading down our bodies. You move in behind my your hands rubbing down my ass to reach between my legs to my wet pussy, you slide a couple of fingers in and out of me slowly and cry out in pleasure. You ask me if I want your cock in me and I whimper out a soft yes, you tell me to tell you what I want with a slight rough tone, I cry out "I want you to fill my pussy with your cock", You grab my hips again and slide yourself deep inside me, you continue to thrust deep and fast into my wet hole. My hips buck trying to match your own thrusts, so hard and deep, I feel myself about to cum over your cock, and I tell you so, you speed up your pace waiting to feel me lose my control. My muscles clench and I can't hold it back anymore as I let loose and my cum washes over your cock as you continue to pump in and out of my dripping wet pussy. Between my moans and panting for breath I ask you if you'd like me to suck your cock until you cum in my mouth, before you can answer I erupt with another orgasm from the intense pleasure your giving me. You pull your cock out of me and it's covered in my juices, I turn around and get on my knees and I start to suck them off of you. I take you deep inside my mouth and down my throat, I want to feel you cum in my mouth, I want to taste you. I swirl my tongue over your cock as I suck on your hardened length taking you in deeply, as if I can't get enough of you. My hand moves to massage your balls as I work my mouth over you, and my other hand finds its way to my clit stroking it, making me moan into your cock. The vibrations spread through out your hardened length, I feel your cock twitch in my mouth as your about to cum. You shoot your load into my hot little mouth and it hits the back of my throat, as I swallow all of it...loving your taste. I can't wait to see what you have planned for this weekend. Because if I have my way, we'll never have a chance to wear any clothes,I might even tie you up if I have too...