“Blaze?”
And he stopped and looked at me. I would have had him, right there, right at the door of that place. Taken him in my mouth, taken him up my ass, taken him between my breasts, into my aching pussy, anywhere. Everywhere. Only, I don’t think it’s polite to jump a man just whenever you feel like it. It could embarrass him. See, I hardly knew Blaze back then.
I said, “It’s just sex, right?”
Chapter Nine
HIS EYES GLEAMED BACK into mine. My mind raced. Here I’m in the most fantastic adventure, literally beyond my wildest imaginings. In a roadhouse in roughly the middle of nowhere with the hottest rockstar on the planet and I was going to risk fucking it up like that. My mouth.
He said, “There’s no such thing as just sex.” and his hand touched my forearm,
Then he said, “Anyway, I don’t know about you, but tonight’s been pretty special for me so far.”
My insides melted and dropped. I couldn’t believe that it was anything more. I couldn’t allow myself to believe it. He was so hot. Being with him, the wild man of his public image was even louder and more wild than it seemed in videos, but the man inside was – something else. The chemistry between us, I kept telling myself, I had to be imagining it.
He pushed the door open before I could make a response. Pumping rock guitars and the shouts of a packed crowd surged out through the open door like a hot breeze.
When Blaze stepped in through the door, the whole place erupted in shouts and cheers. Bearded faces and pretty blonde heads with big eyes turned toward us. Glasses were raised in the air. When the bikers and got sight of me, though, they whooped and they yelled. It was a low-lit dive, filled with bikers and women wearing a lot of not much, mostly black or slivery. Blaze greeted everybody as we crossed the floor, slapped hands, said, ‘hey’ to a few guys.
The bartender was ready for us, Blaze grinned and said,
“Jack.” The guy nodded like, Of course, and slid a bottle and two shot glasses across the bar top to him.
Blaze grabbed the bottle and glasses in one hand, me in the other, and took us to a table in the corner. He filled the two shot glasses. When he lifted one, he chinked it on the rim of the other glass. I took the hint and we knocked the shots back. A hot, smokey tang blasted down my throat. He poured two more. Full measures again.
He waved to a woman across the room. Her long, black, spikey hair was like an explosion of dark. She had on black fishnet stockings with garters, some black lace around a black corset, black makeup and red lipstick.
She came to the table and Blaze told her, “Zelda, this is Lucy.”
Zelda looked at me. Blaze told her,
“Teach this girl some moves.” Zelda looked at me, hard. Then he said, “And see if she’s got a voice, okay?”
Chapter Ten
HOT ROCK AND SOUL was how Blaze’s music was described. There is more to it than that, a lot more as I’m sure you know, but like Blaze said, “Music promoters love to have a peg. Something they can hang you on.” The guy practically founded a movement in music. And here he was with me. Looking into my eyes.
A band on the stage of the roadhouse played a version of the same style. Soul rhythms and a hard rock beat with poetic lyrics, rap style vocal battles, all woven together with guitar riffs like the music of the apocalypse.
Zelda’s weary eyes stayed on me as she called out over her shoulder, “Carl?”
A deep grunt drifted up from the far side of the bar. Still holding my eyes with her own, Zelda called again, “Over here.”
A biker in streaky denims over leather over more mottled denim came to the table. He was massive in every direction. A beard hung down to rest on the top of his considerable gut. His teeth flashed with silver and his fingers all had thick, heavy silver rings. Every visible patch of his skin was blue from tattoo ink. Zelda stood and said,
“Come on,” and she led Carl and me through the crowd to a door at the back of the bar. Carl loped with a boyish enthusiasm that seemed at odds with his bulk. My feet dragged, and I looked back to the table where Blaze and I had been sitting, drinking, but the chairs were empty. Blaze was gone.
Zelda took my elbow and guided me into a dark hallway and up some steps. Carl opened a door and Zelda led me into a big, dimly lit lounge. She waved me on to a chaise-longue at one side of the room. She sat on a chair facing me. From outside, I heard an engine start.
That was the first time that I recognized the hefty, thump of Blaze’s Harley. Several more bike engines started up and, as they all pulled away, I could hear Blaze’s bike lead the pack. I wondered when he would be back, or If he would return at all. Zelda clearly heard it, too, and read the look on my face. This strange woman with the porcelain skin looked like the whore-heroine of a dark steampunk fantasy.
I’m not a ‘relationship’ kind of a girl, never have been. They don’t happen for me, and I don’t need them. So I wasn’t going to start imagining cottages in the country or white dresses and veils, heading into the sunset with little pinkies linked. All that crap. But the connection between Blaze and me, it had been powerful and unlike anything that I’d known before.
He had told me that it was something special for him, too. And, while I wasn’t heading off into dreams of hearts and flowers, I couldn’t stop myself from hoping, really hoping, that it would somehow go on. It was only a couple of hours in, and already it was something that I was afraid to lose.
To be fair, at a couple of hours in, it had already outlasted some of my better relationships. Carl stood beside Zelda, and I couldn’t avoid noticing under his jeans, a lump went most of the length of his right thigh. And as I looked at it, it twitched.
I said, “What’s Carl going to do?” and tried to keep my voice even.
Zelda said,“Carl is going to get us some beers.” She looked up at him and he smiled, went to another room, and came back with three beers, handed one each to Zelda and me. He took the other beer to the far end of the lounge, where he turned on a screen, and sat to play a console game that involved a lot of shooting and explosions.
Zelda said, “You just met Blaze, I’m guessing,” I nodded.
She said, “He deals in fantasy. Myths and epic tales are his trade. That whole rockstar kick is a bunch of modern myths.”
She looked in my eyes, like she wanted to see that I was following her drift, and I wasn’t sure that I was.
She told me, “Anytime he wants something, wrap it up in a legend before you give it to him. Make a story. Tell him why it’s special, and especially why it’s special for him. He’s apt to be unpredictable if you don’t keep a hold of his attention. Blaze needs to believe that he isn’t like other people, that he’s special.”
In her voice, I could hear that she was warning me. Telling me something important. I wondered then if Zelda had some kind of a gift. Or maybe she just knew Blaze, really well.
She said, “What makes him different from what he calls ‘civilians’ is that they don’t go around believing myths about themselves.” She took a pull on her beer.
“Anytime he wants something you don’t want to give up, that’s the time you’ve got to go.”
Zelda was definitely telling me something. Something I needed to unpick and consider carefully. She looked me up and down. When I had stepped into the bar downstairs with Blaze, I felt strong. Unique. As we crossed the room, every eye relished the considerable bounce under my loose, flimsy cotton tee-shirt, my pale thighs and the roll of my big, round, gorgeous ass.
Eyes widened when they caught how askew my sheer black panties were, and tongues emerged for the view at the bottom of the tee-shirt. One or two of those bikers made loud, low rasping growls. Others sat to get a better look.
With Blaze, I had felt invincible, magical.
“You mind me asking,” Zelda said, “is that how you usually like to dress?” Now that Zelda reminded me, I felt exposed.
“When we’re done, we’ll find you some things.” then she stood, “Carl?” Carl
looked up, “We’re ready.”
Are we? I thought, ready for what, exactly?
Chapter Eleven
CARL STOOD UP, MOVED to a sound system, set something up and looked at Zelda. She looked at me. “Do what Carl does.” then she nodded to Carl.
A hollow ticking beat started up. Quick and insistent, with short keyboard stabs. Some breathy female vocal. I knew that song. But I couldn’t believe it.
When the keyboard riff started, Carl jumped to the middle of the floor with his feet apart. His fists were faced out and wide from hips. Pumping his shoulder to the beat as Britney sang, “You better work, bitch,” His arm went out, his hips swiveled and his feet flew.
We went all the way through the song, the crawl on all fours, the floor moves with legs in the air, all of the turns and jumps. Zelda walked around us, clapping out the beat.
I could dance, and I knew those moves but I didn’t have them nearly like Carl did. In front of him, I looked like a woozy child.
As soon as the song finished, Carl looked at me and he said, “Again.”
We did the routine four times, maybe five. Then we did the same with Rhianna’s “Work.” That was hard to hear over the music from downstairs. The beat wasn’t marked with drums. That meant I had to really listen and concentrate.
The moves were not easy to follow and I was astounded watching Carl’s hips roll like Rhianna’s, but I concentrated on my own moves. We went all the way through the song twice. At the end of that, Carl’s eyebrows went up as his eyelids went down and he made a nod to Zelda. Her bottom lip pushed up.
I didn’t know if it meant they were impressed or if it was just, This is what we have to work with resignation. After only a few moments to rest, Carl took me through Micheal Jackson’s dancing in Billie Jean.
We took the song in sections and Carl went through each move, every step and shape, schooling me in the face, giving every move a story. An attitude. He was patient but serious and determined.
I was getting pretty tired when I started to realize, Zelda and Carl were pushing me through an intense crash course in choreography. None of the songs were what I would have expected, butI could see, the beats, the discipline and the stories of each and every gesture were what I was being taught.
Blaze was having me schooled to dance. He had talked to Zelda about finding out if I had a voice, too. This could be serious. I was exhausted but I was not going to show it.
In a break, Zelda told me, “He’ll want you to sing if you’ve got the voice, but only if you can do it and dance at the same time. Not everyone can do that. The breath control is hard. If you don’t have a natural ability then it’s very hard to learn.”
“But if you do?”
“Then it’s till pretty hard to learn. Only that way you’ve got a chance of succeeding.”
It was hard, but I did my best. Zelda took me through songs by Witney Houston, Amy Winehouse, Florence Welch, and Aretha Franklin. Just like the dance numbers, none of it was anything like Blaze’s music but, by now, I was pretty sure that Zelda and Carl knew what they were doing.
I tried to just do what they told me the very best that I could. By the time Zelda said, “That’s enough for now,” I was ready to collapse. Carl patted my shoulder as he handed me another beer.
“You did good,” and he went back downstairs. I asked Zelda, “Did I? Really?” Before she answered I said, “I’m looking to you to tell me the truth, not to cheer me up.”
“Oh, I’ll always tell you the truth, child.” The look she gave me was steady. “You did good. Time will tell whether you can really carry it. If I know Blaze, though,” she took a weary breath, “You’ll start finding out pretty fast.
I asked her, “Is there anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is there anything else that I can do for him?”
She asked if I could swallow a banana.
“You mean can I swallow one whole?” as I asked her I understood. I shook my head.
Zelda looked me in the eye for a long time. She went out of the room and returned with a bunch of bananas, a toothbrush and a bowl. showed me how to push the toothbrush onto the back of my throat, to find the point that triggered the gag response.
“Practice by brushing your throat there, and relax, Lucy. Feel the urge to gag and keep doing it until you can control the gag.”
I did it. The first couple of times, my stomach knotted and I choked.
“In time,” she said, “you learn to control it.”
She unzipped a long banana. Her breasts swelled and heaved in the corset. Then she licked her lips, her eyes sparkled as she looked at me, then she tipped her head back and slid the banana slowly between her moist lips.
She pressed it into her mouth and I saw her throat swell and her nostrils flared wide as she pushed it gently until only the very tip was in the middle of her open mouth. Her breasts rose and fell more heavily. She put her hands down and the banana slid gradually back out about half way, still perfectly intact. Her head still back, the banana slid inch by inch back down into her, got all the way down into her throat, stopped, and then slid back out again.
I smelled the woman scent of her. I was breathing hard, too, and my crotch was hot and moist. Zelda’s hands were on the arms of the chair and her neck lengthened as the banana rose out of her mouth. She breathed hard as it slipped down again, and then gradually all the way out. When it popped all the way back out, Zelda caught it, breathing hard. She let out a huge sigh. The banana was wet, shiny and slippery. But it still had its shape.
I took it straight from her, tipped my head back and slid the banana into my throat. It was soft and slick with Zelda’s saliva, and it gave me a massive thrill. When the gag started, I stopped pushing and relaxed against the reflex. I closed my eyes. Zelda’s voice was thick and low when she said,
“Breathe slowly and deeply through your nose,” I did.
“Don’t push any more until you’re sure that you’re ready.”
I felt ready. The musky aroma of female heat was giddying. Zelda was standing in front of me, her legs wide, her cheeks and the tops of her breasts reddening, and her eyes moist and glimmering.
I pressed. My throat tightened and convulsed and the banana shot out, and landed on Zelda’s breast. She looked at me as she slid it inside the corset and down into her cleavage. I was so hot and excited, the gag faded away. She leaned down, bringing her breasts toward me, the banana poking out between them.
Her breasts quivered as she pointed the banana to my lips. My hands behind me, I slipped my lips over the banana, and I went on along it until I reached her breasts. Then with the muscles of my throat, I drew it in a couple more inches so it slid between her hot, soft breasts. And then out, back into Zelda’s cleavage. Her breasts were wet, from the banana, from my saliva, and from the sweat that moistened her creamy valley.
Her breasts heaved and the poor banana was crushed to a mush. I began to lick, suck and gobble it from her lovely, soft breasts as they swelled. Her hand cupped the back of my head and she turned it up to face to her. The composure was gone from her, she was panting, her wet lips parted and her eyes were wild. Her lip trembled and her voice had dropped an octave. She said,
“Maybe.”
I was breathing hard, too. My heart pounded and my chest shook. The tip of her tongue touched her top lip.
Dirty Rocker Page 4
