“Keep licking,” she told me between her moaning. “You won’t get to come back stage until you get it right. A little higher. Ah, that’s it. But not so hard. Ahhh! You’ve almost got it.”
She was the most stunning woman I had ever seen, though at that moment with me kneeling and my face thrust up between her legs, all I saw was the rippled flesh beneath her skirt.
She demanded the lick as the price for me getting to hang out back stage with the band, and me, the shy boy from New Jersey whose friends had dragged to the New York club so I might get over my shyness and actually get myself laid, I was doing all I could do to handle the situation.
Had any seen me at this moment, the would not have recognized me as the same man, just I didn’t feel like the man I was when I had slipped into the rock club hoping to remain invisible.
“A little faster,” she said, then moaned again when the tip of my tongue sped up, circling that small spot from which most of her pleasure rose.
Even as she moaned, I did, too, feeling my own needs surge up between my legs, she telling me how I had to please her though never promised to do the same for me.
It was my ache that even allowed me to get led here, a force so potent I nearly exploded when I saw the woman for the first time performing her magic on stage, convincing me then and there to please her in any way she wanted just for the privilege of being allowed to be near her.
I lost control – my shyness vanishing for the moment as I pushed and shoved my way closer to the stage so I could get as close a look at her as possible.
I figured if I stayed quiet enough none of the real players positioning themselves near her would notice me – rock clubs like the rest of the world had a pecking order and I was last on her line of suitors.
Yet as much as I wanted to remain unnoticed, I ached to catch her eye, and to make her realize just how much I adored her.
And the closer I got to the stage and the more I saw of her, the more I ached, my eyes tracing out each curve of her moving body as if my fingers could reach out and touch her flesh.
And the closer I got to the stage, the more obvious I became of just how ordinary a guy I was among all those slick-haired, cologne-drenched studs all vying for her attentions.
She barely noticed me even though I stood out, a quivering bulge of desire contained in a very ordinary package.
I was so pathetically obvious in my puppy-like affection, one of the crew felt sorry for me and offered to introduce me to her – although I think the crew members bet with each other as to how long it would take her to chew me up and spit me out.
Joke or not, I nearly fell over my own elevated agony as I followed them back stage, taking pride in the jealous looks the hip studs gave me as I passed.
And then, I came into her presence, she seated on a couch outside the band’s dressing room, her long legs thrust out and parted so that I could see up h short skirt far enough to realize she wore nothing underneath.
Her eyes laughed as she read my undisguised lust in mine.
“I don’t let groupies fuck me,” she said. “But if you want to hang around with the band back stage, you’ve got to lick me first.”
I was breathless and frozen in place, falling to my knees only with the help of a crew member who gave my back a push with the tips of his fingers.
Suddenly, my head slipped up between her smooth legs, her skirt covering my head like a hood.
I needed no social calendar to realize just how lucky I was, although I was a stranger in that remarkable geography and needed her voice to guild me through to the pleasure she demanded I give, my tongue less clumsy than any other part of me would have been, drawing moans out of her, me finding strange and wondrous satisfaction in those sounds – as if I could spend an eternity doing nothing else.
“Keep licking,” she commanded, though her voice had become breathless and her moans more and more out of control. “You’ve – You’ve almost got it. Yes, yes, YES! You can hang out with us! YES!”
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