Take It Off
(MF, oral, true?, fanfic)
www.asstr.org/~paulstory
[email protected] (remove 'nospam')
FINAL VERSION, 10/18/2007 01:28 AM
DISCLAIMER: Don't read if you're under eighteen, or if the laws in your very repressive jurisdiction would suggest that you not read smutty stories such as this one.
I was never one of THOSE kind of concertgoers.
You know the kind — dressing like whores, hoping to get backstage with the band, barely-disguised promises of sexual favors evident in their expressions and outfits.
And so, even though I'd been to see plenty of rock and roll bands live, I'd never been backstage. Never even given it more than a fleeting thought.
Until one night changed everything.
It was a crowded, sweaty club in downtown Houston. The two opening acts had been tolerated, albeit impatiently, and the headliner was minutes away from taking the stage.
I was on my own this particular night — none of my friends were available, due to class schedules, work obligations, and other various and sundry excuses. I didn't really care — I'd been to concerts by myself in the past. The only disadvantage was not having anyone to talk to during the set breaks.
Conversely, an advantage was that I could slip closer to the stage than a group of two or three people could. Being on my own, I could find the gaps that a crowd of people inevitably leave between themselves and perfect strangers. At shows like this one, which were general admission, this was a big plus.
Before the band took the stage, I found myself front and center, separated from the edge of the stage by only three rows of people. Not bad.
The headliner tonight at the Meridian was a band I'd loved for years, but somehow never had the chance to see live. I screamed until my throat was raw as they took the stage, rocking their way through a mix of their older classics and newer work. And as I watched them perform, singing along to every song, something happened that I'd never experienced at a live show before.
I started to get horny.
At first, it was merely a dull ache in my groin. Granted, it had been a while since I'd gotten laid. But as I watched the band rock on stage, getting sweatier and sweatier, I felt my arousal grow.
The guitarist's arms were coated with a sheen of sweat, and the drummer's forehead was thick with wet hair. The bassist gyrated erotically on stage, but it was the lead singer — Brett — who captured most of my attention.
As the set continued on, I found myself wondering — could I do it? Could I try and be one of the groupies who "go backstage" after the show?
I was still undecided, wavering between proper behavior (going home) and something a little more unseemly, when the band finished their set. Like all the other people in attendance, I knew there would be an encore. But the audience shifted around in the pit during the break, and I found the opportunity to get even closer to the stage. Now, I was in the second row, separated from the stage by only one person.
If things had turned out differently, I probably would have just gone home after the show.
But, fate had a different role for me to play that night. During the second song of the encore set, I was rocking out with the rest of the crowd, giving the well-accepted two-finger "rock" salute with both hands, banging my head along to the beat.
Brett leaned down to sing the chorus to the crowd, crouching just over our heads. Our eyes locked, and I felt myself stunned as Brett leaned over, inches from my face, singing just to me. An electric shock ran down my body, centered between my legs.
Then, Brett leaned over further still, bracing one hand on my shoulder, leaning way out over the crowd, fingers caressing my neck. It was only for a scant few seconds, Brett performing to and singing with the crowd, then pushing back against my shoulder and returning to an upright position on the stage.
But the electric shock that ran to my groin was even stronger this time, and that's when I knew.
I wanted to fuck Brett, the whole band, but mainly Brett, right then and there.
I was going backstage.
I was in a daze as the band finished their set, tossing guitar picks and drumsticks to the audience. As most of the crowd filtered toward the exits, I had a different destination in mind.
I joined the line of other groupie wannabes near the door to the backstage area. Not sure how they chose which of us to go back, but the beefy security guards gestured to a half-dozen of us. I was thrilled to be chosen, and I moved robotically into the backstage area.
Once back there, I had to perform the unappealing task of going down on one of the security guards. I did this duty without complaint, feeling the security guard coat my face with cum. I didn't mind, it got me one step closer to the band.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, we were led to the band's private locker room, where we were told to strip our clothes and join the band in the showers.
"No fighting over band members," the guards admonished us. "One slut to a band member at a time, unless a second one is requested. You'll all get your turn, probably more than one, I promise," the lead guard said, laughing.
I stripped my clothes, tossing them into a pile. Finally, the door opened to the shower room, and I stepped inside.
I saw all four band members in their naked glory, soaping up in the showers.
I was flattered and aroused beyond belief when Brett pointed directly at me. "You. From the front. Get over here, on your knees."
I practically raced to Brett's shower, sliding down to my knees. Gazing up the glistening wet length of skin, I knew what I was expected to do.
I knelt between Brett's thighs and extended my tongue for the first taste of her pussy. Eating out that butchy security guard was worth it, for this. As I licked around her sopping cunt, I felt my cock get even HARDER, which I didn't think possible.
For the second time tonight, Brett put her hand on my shoulder. She pressed her cunt harder against my face, and I ate her for all I was worth, up and down her slit, teasing her clit from its hiding place.
At some point, she turned off the shower and leaned back against the tile surface, spreading her thighs wider for me. The sounds of sex were all around me, yet I concentrated only on Brett. Her pussy was fresh and clean smelling, her pubes trimmed into a neat landing strip just above her lips.
Brett gyrated her hips against me as I continued to eat her, sliding one finger inside her tight hole. When I felt her internal muscles clenching against my invading finger, I concentrated all my oral attentions on her clit. I rolled it and teased it with my lips and tongue, pulling it forcefully into my mouth.
That did the trick, and she came all over my face, shrieking loudly.
I continued licking and nibbling on her clit and lips until she pushed my face away, and slid to the tile floor of the shower. Her thighs were wantonly spread as she sat there, her open and wet pussy evident.
"Wow. If I had known you were that good at that, I might have jumped you out there," she said, gesturing towards the front of the building.
I laughed, my face red with embarrassment, my cock red and throbbing, pointing out from my body.
"So, do you fuck as well as you eat pussy?" she asked me.
"I do," I said, and proceeded to show her.
Later that night I also showed the lead guitar player and the drummer my two skills simultaneously.
Since then, I've become somewhat of a groupie slut, and the security guards who work the various venues have gotten to know me by mouth, er, I mean name.
Sure, it's slutty work. But someone is going to suck and fuck these girls — so why shouldn't it be me?
Author’s note: Two inspirations for this little role-reversal story.
The first is Al Steiner’s Intemperance, which has given me a view into the backstage life of rock and roll bands. Is his tale accurate? I like to think so.
Do female rock bands engage in the same sort of debauchery as male rock bands? Probably not, but a man can dream, right?
The second, more direct inspiration came from seeing female rockers “The Donnas” live in concert at the Meridian, Houston, tonight, 10/17/07. I’ve always lusted after The Donnas, particularly lead singer Brett Anderson.
So you can imagine the thrill I got when, during the performance of “Take It Off,” she leaned off the stage and into the crowd, bracing herself on my shoulder, just as I described in the story.
I may never wash this shirt again.