Rock

by Kendall Grey

  Rax backs off Toombs and gestures for me to take a seat. Don’t mind if I do. I lower myself onto Toombs’s rock-hard wang, and bellow a bevy of curses as the beads gobble up my clit on the way in. Jesus jizzing in a Jell-O wrestling pit.

  Facing me, Jinx positions her pierced pussy over his hungry lips, and he groans into her sensitive flesh. I fondle her tits, squeezing as she rides his mouth with the vacant expression of a fully inebriated junkie indulging in her favorite drug. By the sounds of Toombs’s ravenous smacking, he’s pretty fucking lost in her too.

  It takes me several strokes to get used to the bumps embedded in Toombs’s cock, but when I do, I shiver at the elixir of pleasure-laced pain. It hurts, but the raw carnality breaks through the discomfort, sending my head spinning with uninhibited, wanton desire for more.

  Staring into Jinx’s eyes, I’m overcome with filthy, taunting thoughts. “What do you think about your man’s cock ravaging my cunt, Jinx? Does it turn you on?” I drop my gaze to the saddle. She coyly follows my line of sight and unleashes the surliest, most seductive grin I’ve ever seen on her beautiful, sweet pixie face.

  “Hell yes, it turns me on. Fuck her harder, Toombs,” Jinx commands. “Make her squirt.”

  Way to turn the tables, girlfriend! Now that’s how to make a woman scream. “Jinx, I think I love you, you naughty little minx.”

  Toombs picks up speed. Bracing my hands on his bruised chest and leaning forward to make room for Rax, I slam my pussy over those beads, deeper with each thrust. Toombs shudders and groans into Jinx’s dripping mound. Rax’s familiar heat sears my back, and Toombs’s sudden paralysis tells me he got butt-boarded. It’s a tight fit with four of us packed so closely together, but doable. Oh man, is it doable.

  A few seconds of adjustment later, the primal scrapes of Toombs’s beads raking my cunt and nibbling at my unprotected clit get the better of me. I fall against Jinx, sucking her mouth into mine, devouring her. I flick my nub with wild, unfettered snaps of the wrist. My ears fill with Rax’s piggish grunts and Toombs’s whimpers. Visuals of Rax pounding Toombs’s ass while the latter’s beads kiss me to climax bombard me.

  I can’t take another second. I scream. I push. I hiss. Twisting my hips, but still clamped hard on those cum-draining pearls, I balance on my haunches. Rax pauses his thrusts and holds me around the waist as I hose Jinx’s tits, her parted lips, Toombs’s mouth sucking her off. Hair, skin, furniture—no surface is left untouched by Letty Dillinger’s lascivious wrath.

  Clamoring for breath, I disentangle myself from the fray of pounding bodies, find my footing on the floor, and feast on the thoroughly indecent sight of Rax plugging away at Toombs’s hole. Toombs’s drenched cock bounces wildly against his belly as he plunders Jinx’s woman cave with a tongue-pick. Rax gropes Toombs’s hulking, metal-laden monstrosity and pumps it as he pumped his own a few minutes ago. Fuuuuck, that’s hot.

  “Yeah, fuck his ass, Rax. Make him come. Make me come. Make us all come!” I yell, groping my tits, squeezing, pulling nipples. I laugh hysterically. Because I’ve positively lost my mind in this den of debauchery, this playground for the sexually insane.

  I can’t see Toombs’s face, buried as it is in his woman’s vanilla pudding cup, but when he sinks his heels into the soaked couch and starts rocking harder and faster to Rax’s rhythm, I’m fucking done for.

  More jizz juice for everyone!

  I flick my bean at Rax, dousing him with watery fluid. His cock shoved deep inside Toombs’s back door, he seems to feed off the spray. His pounding amps up with renewed fervor. Jinx falls forward, latching onto Toombs’s dick and sucking the living hell out of him as he eats her out in the most beautiful 69 pose I’ve ever witnessed.

  Jinx spits on the cock ramming Toombs full of meat. Through a tangle of hair, she peers up at Rax as her hips grind into Toombs’s face. “Right here,” comes her throaty command. She opens wide. Her lids are half shuttered over hard, hungry eyes.

  Oh, fuck yeah. I’m getting some of this too. I fall in beside them, knees planted next to the couch, and yank Toombs’s cock in sync with Rax’s. “Both of you,” I say. “Now, motherfuckers. Right fucking now.”

  Jinx shoves my hand away and takes control of Toombs, squeezing and twisting and slapping, while I pull Rax out to the tune of a weighty sigh—not exactly sure whose, but I think it was Toombs’s. I strip off Rax’s condom, toss it aside, and settle in beside Jinx’s head, mouth gaping and very thirsty.

  Rax commandeers his manslab, stretches his spine straighter, and angles the tip at my lolling tongue. Hot, white toss sauce lights up my taste buds. Being the greedy bitch I am, I beg for more, for all of it, but he shares the shower with Jinx. As the last drop falls, he grabs Toombs by the nads—way harder than a gentleman should—and squeezes the shit out of them. Toombs seizes and barks a “Fuuuck!” on the tail end of an elongated breath as he adds his salty flavor to the mix. His cum snaps at Jinx like a frog’s tongue catching a bug—fast, perfectly targeted, efficient.

  Rax’s wicked smile is enough to make me fall for the man.

  “Mmm,” I moan, lapping at each head in turn. Jinx and I bump mouths in our race to see who can collect the most pearl jam. Rax looks down at us, wipes some errant drops from my cheek with a thumb, and feeds the glob to Jinx. I try to steal it, but she covets her prize and bite-sucks another droplet off her bottom lip. I tackle her backward onto Toombs’s slowly recovering form. “Share,” I say, hoarding what little I collected on my tongue.

  “Come and get it.” She opens her mouth.

  I impale her with two fingers as I ladle the cum from inside, slurping, kissing. We exchange fluids for a few more seconds, and then I pull away, careful not to swallow. Without a word, I mine her cunt for more liquid sex with a series of fast, hard finger pumps. I slam the flat of my palm on her belly and push. She bucks against me, flailing, pierced tits bouncing. I lower myself to her perfect pink lips, spit the load of Rax and Toombs on her weeping cunt, and spread it deep inside with my tongue.

  She shoves her splayed fingers through my wet hair, grasping, pulling, guiding me deeper still. “God, Letty,” she cries. Two tears roll from the corners of her eyes as she mops my face with her drenched pussy. “Please make me come. Please … please …” Her voice trails off to a whimper. Her forehead furrows with lines of exquisite pain. Her butt rises from the sticky couch, and she grinds against my teeth, metal piercing scraping. Her head lolls desperately back and forth as if to scream, “NO!” while her body pleads, “YES!”

  I latch onto her clit ring with a hard bite and pull, all the while pumping her like a pair of Reeboks before a championship game.

  “FUCK!” she screams. The pressure inside her twat forces my hand out with the power of a jet engine. The result isn’t so much a squirt as a goddamn flood. Like, the kind you call a plumber for. She sprays my face, soaking my hair. The couch. The carpet. The end table four feet away. Possibly the tiles on the kitchen floor. Rax. Toombs. And—I turn my head—Shades.

  A good fifteen seconds later—I’m not even kidding. Fifteen fucking seconds—Jinx drops her sweet Catholic ass into the newly formed pool on the leather sofa, quivering from head to toe and mumbling indecipherable words. I slither off the couch through a Slip ’N Slide of ejaculate and fall into a messy pile of quivering arms, legs, and recovering orgasms on the floor.

  A pair of lead feet thunder toward me. Hands scoop me up like a slippery eel and throw me over a heaving, furious shoulder. The territorial Neanderthal, whom I vaguely recognize as Shades, drags me to his cave without a word and slams the door behind us.

  Pissed-off Neanderthal Seeks Angry Fuck

  I guess there’s no rest for the weary when Killer Buzz Float is in the house. Never mind that I just burned 2,000 calories in a wanton fuck-for-all, or that I forcefully ejected a couple liters of liquid love from my cooch, leaving me drier than a dead dingo’s donger in a drought. My exhaustion is irrelevant because Shades has now decided it’s his turn to initiate some
Angry Fucking.

  You know the kind. You get in an awful fight with your lover over something ridiculously stupid. Insults are hurled, maybe faces are slapped, tempers fray, and in the heat of all the conflicting emotion, the violence turns into … passion. There’s a very fine line between sex and fury.

  I don’t need to look at Shades to know how mad he is. The heat pouring off him is a pretty good indicator. When he heaves me off his shoulder and hurls me like a goddamn discus onto the mattress, my suspicions are confirmed. Nothing screams “murderous rage” like the trickle of blood from your estranged boyfriend’s clenched teeth after he watches you fuck your three bandmates.

  I’ve never seen him so pissed. Hurt? Yes. Wounded, even. But never this angry. His face is so pinched, I barely recognize him.

  A shiver rushes over me as he stalks toward the bed, shoulders bunched, eyes virtually smoking with fire and brimstone. He says nothing as he shoves his pajama pants to his ankles and punts them off. Even his cock is furious, pointing accusingly at me as if it’s passed judgment and sentenced me to the electric chair.

  Grabbing me by the wrists, he yanks me up to sit. He scolds me with an incensed stare, words stabbing the tip of his tongue. Instead of speaking them, he shakes his head and pushes me down and to my side. Disgusted. He’s disgusted with me.

  My initial reaction is to give it right back to him, but I lie still like a limp doll. No energy to do anything else. Plus, I’m starting to feel a tiny bit guilty.

  Okay, maybe a lot guilty.

  He roughly parts my legs so they’re splayed like open scissors, cool air kissing my hot lips. Settling in behind me, he jams his dick in and fucks. No words are exchanged. We’re just a broken mass of pissed off, desperate, needy fornication. Truthfully, I’m glad I can’t see him. Seeing him would bring the severity of his pain into focus, and I’m too drained—physically and emotionally—to deal with that shit right now. After a couple minutes, he tenses, grabs my arm and squeezes as he comes inside me. Then he rolls over, his breaths hurried but quiet. I stare at the wall in silence.

  The mattress jostles, dips, and springs back into place as he gets up. The whispers of tugged-on fabric followed by fading movement tell me he’s heading for the door.

  “Shades,” I say without turning around for fear of what hell my conscience might be condemned to suffer if I witness another second of disappointment on his face.

  The movement stops. I picture him facing me, but he’s probably looking at the door, impatient for me to say my peace so he can leave.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice cracks, and a tear forms at the corner of my lids. It drags the apology down the slope of my nose and hits the pillow as the door clicks shut.

  * * *

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying here, drowning in the ocean of goddamn tears that sprung unexpectedly and refused to stop after he left. It’s been at least a few hours. Maybe even half the day.

  I hug the pillow. Man, I had no idea how good I had it a couple short weeks ago when I was complaining about the rut Shades and I had fallen into. Now I’m afraid we’ve beaten each other beyond recognition and might never regain what we’ve lost. A guy can only give so much before he reaches the breaking point.

  I should’ve been giving too, instead of taking, taking, taking.

  I’ve been a mighty asshole.

  Dehydration from the combination of crying and the squirt-Olympics session finally get the better of me, and I wander toward the kitchen for some water. On the way out, I notice Shades’s bag is gone.

  Wow, Letty, you’ve really fucked up this time.

  Rax, Eve, Toombs, and Jinx are still naked, sprawled over the carpet and furniture, magnetized into place with their proper partners as if a massive orgy never even thought about happening here. Jinx’s head lifts sleepily from Toombs’s chest. Our eyes lock for half a second before she looks away. Did I fuck up with the band too?

  Birthday Club was the worst idea ever.

  I grab a water bottle, guzzle the entire thing, and toss the empty plastic into the recycling bin. Then I gather my clothes from their scattered points in the living room and get dressed. Drawing her thumbnail to her teeth for a gnaw, Jinx watches me. Toombs cracks his lids, then closes them again when he sees me. Embarrassed, bored, or thoroughly disgusted, I’m not sure.

  Once I’ve gathered my shit, I wave at Jinx and whisper, “I’m heading to the bus.”

  “You okay?” she mouths, brows tight with a sweet mixture of concern and shyness.

  I nod. “You?” Knowing Jinx, guilt is probably eating her alive. Over the last year, she’s had a hard time justifying her latent sexual desires with the “morals” her family beat into her.

  Ducking her head, she bites her bottom lip and nods.

  I hope she’s not lying. I’d hate to screw up our friendship because of a stupid mistake, even though I don’t think it would’ve played out that way if Shades had been involved. Now, everything’s awkward and weird.

  Probably a good thing we’re not allowed to talk about Birthday Club after all is said and done.

  I flash Jinx a tight smile and slip out the door.

  When I get to the lobby, I call for a cab to take me “home.” The narrow, late afternoon light angling through the trees along the quiet drive dapples my skin. The night Shades and I met, we took a taxi to a hotel very similar to the one I just left. I fucked him with a strap-on. Had no idea who he was at the time. Didn’t ask his name. Didn’t even see his eyes. I dubbed him “Shades” because he wore sunglasses in the bar where I picked him up. BAR-k. Back at my real home in Athens, Georgia.

  I haven’t missed Athens since I got on the road, but all of a sudden I’m homesick as hell. Or maybe I’m craving the simplicity of my life before Shades, the band, and the wild and crazy ride we’ve been on this last year.

  Roots are important, and I haven’t had any for a long time.

  Maybe that’s where some of Shades’s frustrations with our relationship stem from. Maybe he craves the stability we’ve both lost by living out of suitcases and off of fast food, wandering like the bards of old from city to city. Maybe he needs to recalibrate and find balance through the familiar things he grew up with. Family—estranged as they may have been. Friends. A wife.

  Well, he got the family part when Gabrielle showed up. If she’s not a root, I don’t know what is.

  Gabrielle.

  I guess I’ve been pretty hard on the kid. And her mom.

  And her dad.

  The cab swings into the parking lot, and the bus looms. I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It’s time to make amends for my sins.

  Bitch Said WHAT?

  After paying the cabbie, I pass Banging Betties’ bus on the way toward mine. Lizzie, Eliza, Beth, and their manager, a perfectly coiffed gay (I think) pit bull of a man who’s always dressed in expensive suits, stand nearby talking to a woman with a microphone. He looks like a fashion model next to her. Dude is tall and toned, dudded to the nines in Armani or some other fancy-sounding brand, with short-cropped, wavy brown hair meticulously styled to project an I-just-woke-up-from-a-fabulous-night-of-shagging look. Kinda reminds me of a twenty-five-year-old Matt Bomer. Too bad this guy’s such a prick.

  A cameraman waits on standby, checking his watch. And, oh look. There’s Jillian, off to the side, gazing longingly like the nerd who’d kill to be part of the popular girls’ circle.

  She’s pathetic. My blood boils at the thought of her sneaking around with her tongue down the backs of those bitches’ drawers. Does she really think no one’s noticed?

  Fuck. I’ll deal with her later.

  Lizzie’s smoking a cigarette, flicking ashes here and there, her smirk setting off the highlights in her slouch. Her springy red curls are the only bouncy thing about her. She’d actually be cute if it weren’t for the perma-dour frown. Not even the thick, fake eyelashes or wholesome freckles can tame the disgust she exudes. I’ve never seen her smile. Except maybe for the time s
he incited me to riot in the parking lot.

  The others laugh about something the wolfish manager says as camera dude hefts his wide-lensed gear onto his shoulder. I venture closer, using the bus’s shadow for cover.

  “Hey, everyone. I’m Anna DeVille, talking to Lizzie Smith, Beth Wesson, and Eliza Guns from Banging Betties. What’s it like headlining the Get Your Rock Off Tour?” The woman with the mic thrusts it toward Lizzie.

  Lizzie straightens and pastes on an obviously fake smile. “It’s great to play for so many fans. We’re really excited about the response we’ve had.”

  “Not only are you headlining, but last night, you won ‘Newcomers of the Year’ in the Rock Hard Awards. What an honor! Must be an incredible feeling.” This “Anna” chick lays on the ass licking thick. It’s a wonder she doesn’t have to scrape her tongue after all the shit she’s lapping up.

  Wait a minute. Banging Betties won that fucking award? Fuck. Me. Those cunts no more deserve that shit than they do a Nobel Peace Prize. I clench my jaw and inch closer.

  Lizzie nods. “It is an incredible feeling. We’re proud of the work we’ve done to make rock music better—”

  Bitch said WHAT? Oh, fuck you, you egotistical CUNTBAG!

  “—and we hope to extend some of the success we’ve had to the other bands on the tour.”

  My fists tighten at my sides. I count backwards as my blood pressure climbs.

  “Let’s talk about the other bands,” Anna says.

  Lizzie shifts her weight and hitches her hands to her skinny hips. “Yeah, WitchSMUT is one of my favorites. They’re good friends. We have a lot fun with them. DomMob too.”

  I snort. Outside of playing gigs, bitch hasn’t even left the luxury of her precious bus for more than five minutes to spend time with anyone on the tour.