by Nikki Wild
The entire crowd awaited with hushed breath as the crew worked in silence, barely acknowledging one another. They simply did their jobs and retreated when the time was right.
Finally, the stage was empty for a few minutes…
And then out they came.
I could barely make out Trent in the semi-darkness, sauntering towards the microphone as the rest of his band assumed their positions. When everyone was in place, the lights flickered back on, and the crowd went wild.
“Well, would you look at that?” Trent called out, addressing his band. “Looks like a hell of a crowd. Think we can bless them with some serious rock?”
The mob roared with excitement.
“I dunno, bruh,” the dreadlocked guitarist chuckled into his own microphone stand. “They don’t look all that pleased to see us…”
“Maybe we should just pack back up, eh?” The drummer laughed.
“You hear that, folks?” Trent told the audience smugly. “What a bunch of dicks, right? I believe in you, though…but I need some hands. Help me show these assholes that you give a shit!”
The crowd exploded with cheering.
“Fuck yeah! Now that’s what drags our tired asses out on stage!” Trent laughed. “Alright boys, looks like these fuckers aren’t exhausted yet. Ready to give ‘em a show?”
The band immediately launched into song.
The guitarist and bassist began rapidly strumming out a furious tune as the drummer beat his kit with a rhythmic fury. Trent, meanwhile, stood tall at the microphone, throwing his hand out towards the band.
“Helloooo, Alabama! I am Trent Masters, and THIS is the Whiplash!”
Even this late, well past midnight, the crowd remained as energetic as ever. I could see them seriously getting into the music as the melody kicked into gear and the band performed their hearts out.
As Trent began singing his lyrics, he dominated the stage with presence that none of the previous singers had.
While some of them stood at the mike and let their belting vocals do the work, and others bounced around or paraded across the stage, Trent owned that space. His sheer charisma and personality overwhelmed the crowd, and every movement – every little swagger of his step or twirl of the microphone – came from a place of improvised purpose.
It was clear how he was so popular.
He was handsome.
His voice was incredible.
And with every cocky ounce that he had in him, he was perfectly in his element in front of a major crowd.
When he sang for me the previous night, he sang tenderly but purposefully. Those same traits were here now, although he was more forceful, belting out the rich baritones and swapping octaves at the right times to take a scowling line of fury to a quiet, sincere one.
And the choruses of his songs were powerful. The other musicians worked well together, complementing each other against the soundscape of his lyrics.
“You try to run or try to hide / From all this emptiness inside / It’s all so clear when out of sight / But your darkness defines your light…”
The rest of my little group of side-stage spectators were clearly getting into the music. Every once in a while, Trent would turn to flash a quick, powerful smile our way…
But I knew it was always for me.
And I could feel my cold exterior melting away under the heat of that grin.
His cockiness translated well onstage. His effortless strutting and natural arrogance only fueled his performance, even when he opened up briefly to belt out a strikingly powerful lyric.
The entire set was over far too quickly. They had performed the same length of time as the others – somewhere around the forty-five minute to hour mark – but they blazed through the songs with a tenacity that wrapped up out of nowhere.
Oddly, they didn’t perform their main single.
With a swift bow, the band descended backstage amid the constant screams of Encore! Encore! Encore!
The lights dimmed, and nobody returned.
Undaunted, the mob continued to chant…
Until they all returned, picking up their instruments. This close, I could see that they were going through the motions – there was no improvisation here.
But they also looked a little tired.
They really did want to stop for the night.
“Wow, these Alabama fuckers are plenty greedy, aren’t they?” Trent joked over the mike to his band. “What do you guys think? Think we should cut ‘em off here, or give ‘em what they want?”
What they want! The crowd bellowed. What they want! What they want!
“You don’t get a fucking vote!” Trent shouted out over the sound system to them. “But props to that organization, that shit happened fast! What, did you guys form a union while we were hydrating back there?”
The crowd continued to chant, and the band pretended to deliberate together over the microphones.
“I dunno, dude, I just put a pizza on…”
“They seem like a good bunch of folks…”
“I’m gonna miss my Jeopardy! re-runs, man…”
Trent finally turned back to the crowd.
“Alright! ONE more song! IF you’re good! That means, you take the goddamn song and you like it! Is that clear? We good?”
The crowd was ecstatic.
“Fantastic. Alright, you might have heard this one a couple of times. Maybe not out here, I hear you fuckers have shit radio reception. Anyway, it’s a little piece we like to call Wicked Wilds…”
Predictably, the entire mob went ballistic, and the entire band shared a satisfied grin amongst themselves as they began to perform.
Their sheer stage performance – particularly that of their arrogant, mighty front-man – took a fantastic song and only made it better.
“My lonely walk along the highway / A silent king with feet a-peelin’ / Empire of dust that shattered my way / My soul regret, I’ve lost the feelin’…”
Trent continued along the refrain, choosing to skip the chorus the first time to let the guitarists show off. Meanwhile, he head-banged in place along to the tune of their riffs. Eventually, he jumped over to dreadlock guy to mimic his furious strumming for several moments, clearly enjoying himself.
I couldn’t believe that someone this commanding, this indisputably famous, had even given me the time of day – let alone fought four bikers to a standstill to protect me.
It filled my head with strange feelings.
Feelings I couldn’t ignore, let alone control.
After a major guitar solo, he finally took his place back in front of the microphone – and belted out the chorus that everyone had been waiting for.
“Reeee-yee-yee-ead my bones… broken, laid, and / Heeee-yee-yee-eed my moans… whispered, taken / Seee-yee-yee-eee my frown… buried, bathed in / Feee-yee-yee-eel my crown… dust and vapor…”
After another refrain, one clearly just for live shows, and another powerful iteration of the chorus, Trent stepped down and let his band have their moment to close out the set.
The electric guitar wailed.
The backup guitar sang.
The deep bass guitar droned.
The drums exploded.
And all the while, Trent simply stood there, hands on the microphone and head bowed, listening to the unrestrained power of his musicians.
That’s when it struck me.
I realized, in that blinding moment, that Trent Masters was more than just some arrogant, cocky asshole. Underneath all his pride and self-importance, under his swagger and his gesturing, there was a depth to him – a deep, dark depth visible even now.
He was a proper leader to his people.
He let them all have their turn in the light.
After the improvised detonation of instrumentation descended into a wicked, thirty-second drumroll against the ending drones of the guitars, everyone clashed together into one final, definite note. Right afterwards, Trent ascended to the microphone one last time.
�
��WE ARE TRENT MASTERS AND THE WHIPLASH! GET DRUNK, BREAK SHIT, AND HAVE A GOOD FUCKING NIGHT! UNTIL NEXT TIME, YOU BEAUTIFUL SONS OF BITCHES!”
The lights drowned the stage in darkness, and everyone slipped from their spots. This time, there would be no fake-out return to the stage, no matter how much the crowd screamed.
But instead of heading back with the band, Trent strolled straight towards us. Our little group was stunned as he latched onto my arm with a powerful, sweaty hand and half-dragged me backstage.
Thirteen
Trent
Within moments, we were back at the bus. I tossed her to my bed and quickly stepped into the shower, rinsing the sweat from my pores and the grease from my hair.
I was in and out in just a couple of minutes. I hadn’t bothered to throw anything more than a pair of jeans on, anticipating the direction of the next hour.
More accurately, choosing that direction.
I had been patient long enough.
She was finally, conclusively mine.
And I intended to take that privilege.
The rest of the band knew I was going to be in the bus, and didn’t want to be disturbed. They were free to enjoy their after-party with the others, and to drag their designated, temporary fuck-buddies back to the bus to do the deed.
But they understood the rule.
Nobody bothers Trent.
To my satisfaction, Angel was sitting exactly where I’d left her. Her eyes clearly traced the outlines of my muscles as I took her by the hand, pulling her back into my embrace.
I discovered to my unending satisfaction that she was putty in my fucking hands. Everything was right in the world, set back to where we had been interrupted.
But I wasn’t counting on a minor detail.
The kiss felt fucking fantastic.
When I felt her lips brush up against mine, sparks fired off in the back of my head. It was on another level entirely.
Didn’t know a kiss could taste so good…
Before, it had always come off as just an agreement, signing a contract of services about to be rendered. A kiss prior to stripping them bare and losing myself.
But this?
I didn’t know what to do with this.
Neither did Angel. Her chest was heaving against me, and in the low lighting I could see her eyes, furtively searching my own. It was almost as if they were saying, I don’t know what we’re doing. What are YOU doing? What are WE doing?
I didn’t really have an answer.
So I closed mine, bending in for another powerful kiss, pulling her light body up against mine. Her hands rested against my shoulders, almost pushing me away, but sliding around the back of my neck instead.
I could hear her moan into the kiss, and god fucking dammit if that didn’t make me harder than stone where it mattered.
We slid backwards, down onto the bed. Circumstances put her lying on top of me, and I pulled her down into another deep, satisfying kiss. I nipped her bottom lip with my teeth, tugging lightly to excite her, but hard enough to vent out my sexual frustration.
This has been a long time coming, I thought to myself. And I intend on making the most of it.
I let one hand lightly tug at her miniskirt, while the other slapped down hard against her ass. She yelped, almost jumping up, but I wouldn’t let her leave me. Instead, my teeth tugged at her lower lip again, inviting her down further.
I could taste her desire.
I could feel her racing heartbeat.
I could sense her nervousness, her anxiety.
These things only pumped more blood into the stiffening tool between my legs, pushing up against her. My cock ached for fulfillment, strained for release against her. It sensed her furious, hungry need, and it wanted to satisfy.
With the slightest shift of my body, it was pushing right where it mattered most – up between her thighs, her positioning meaning that with just the smallest movements…
Angel matched my grinding, pushing against my rock-hard cock in the semi-darkness. Her breathing was audible now, and I kissed her passionately, pressing my tongue up between her lips and against her own.
My cock flexed against her.
Yes, I thought to it. I was so close to shredding her clothes from her body and fulfilling my aching need with her.
This is happening.
No surprises this time.
You’ll get your prize.
With our tongues still writhing against each other’s, I easily flipped her to her back, climbing on top of her.
My conquest was lying beneath me, trembling. The small amount of light reflected over her eyes, and I dove in for another hungry, delicious kiss…
Wait.
Something’s not right.
There was something in her eyes.
Something I didn’t like.
Was she…about to CRY?
“What’s the matter?” I asked, half seriously but half angrily.
“N-n-nothing,” she whimpered.
A deep sigh slid involuntarily from my chest. “Tell me. What’s the problem.”
“It’s nothing, I swear.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“No, it’s just…I’m…”
“You’re what.”
She was seriously testing my patience now.
My conquest, still lying beneath me, turned her gaze away. I wasn’t having any of that, so I clamped both sides of her jaw with a strong grip and physically turned her back.
“Tell me.”
She trembled harder.
Her entire body was quivering now.
“I’m not…I just…”
Spit. It. The. Fuck. Out.
“I’m a virgin.”
It struck me like a sack of bricks.
I almost laughed.
“You’re a virgin.”
She nodded quietly, turning away again.
“With a body like this… How the fuck are you still a virgin?”
She blushed, but there was still ample shame plastered across her face. My lay was taking this seriously to heart.
But that’s when I realized.
A virgin.
My rightful place.
“Well…that just means we’ll be going a little slower, doesn’t it?” I whispered to her, trying to sound as tender as I possibly could.
She turned back.
“You’d…do that?”
“You’re damn right I would.”
Angel looked me in the eyes. Even in the low light, I couldn’t tell what was going through her head in the slightest. After a moment that felt like a fucking eternity, she nodded.
“Okay.”
I reached down and fondly planted my lips against hers, giving her a deep, loving kiss. I didn’t even have to pretend – it was so easy to bend for her, to hold back from the hunger of my usual passion.
Carefully, delicately, I guided her out of the rest of her clothes. Soon, she was stripped bare beneath me, her body opened up for the taking.
Her tits looked fantastic.
Her shaved little pussy was glistening.
Her skin was ready for my pleasure.
But…
But.
I couldn’t believe it. I had never, ever hesitated before taking a partner before. After scores of groupies and doing as I pleased with their bodies…it was alien to me to actually care about any of them for longer than the moment.
“Is…is something wrong?” She asked timidly.
“No,” I answered immediately, guiding her attention away from any perceived, misplaced dissatisfaction she might have feared from me. “No, everything’s fine.”
“You’re…not doing anything,” she observed quietly. She must have become self-conscious; her thighs rubbed together lightly, toes curling, and she was subtly shrinking into herself.
“I’m just savoring the moment,” I told her, although I wasn’t fooling anybody.
I sat down beside her on the bed, furious with myself, bitterly arguing with my sudde
n bout of stupid, idiotic hesitance.
My conquest was here.
She was ripe, and ready for the plucking. Not only that, but every furious ounce of gritty, hungry lust within me screamed: you’re going to be FIRST.
“This doesn’t feel right,” I felt my lips speak, hearing my own words definitively betray me.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
Angel was sitting up now, hiding her exposed body behind part of the comforter. She was clutching it against her breasts, her legs wrapped together beneath her.
“I…”
I didn’t have words.
But she was concerned now.
Scared.
I needed to have the right words.
“I don’t think I can do this to you,” I heard myself whisper as I turned away. “As much as I want to fuck you like an animal and just let you fall to the wayside… I don’t think I can do that to you.”
It was like an out-of-body experience. Wherever this sudden anxiety, this conscience had come from, it was forcing my body to react on its own. Something deep down inside me held me back. It refused, revolted, rebelled against absolutely defiling her.
I knew that’s exactly what would happen otherwise.
Without any hesitation, I could rock her world. I would bring her to fresh levels of bliss that she could barely fathom, let alone crave.
She was virginal.
She had no idea what I could do to her.
But I did.
And not even just physically.
I could seriously fuck this girl up.
And I couldn’t.
“But I want it, I do,” she whispered.
“You think you do,” I answered. “You know that you’ll enjoy yourself with me, but you know that I’m leaving town soon. We’ll probably never see each other again. What then? How will you handle that?”
Angel was caught off-guard.
“I’ll manage,” she finally told me.
“You’re trembling.”
My hand slid across her thigh.
She was shaking in the semi-darkness.
“I…I’m sorry,” she whispered sadly.
“No. Don’t be sorry.”
She looked me in the eyes.
It seemed like she was shaking a lot less.
“Do it, Trent,” she whispered.
“I can’t make you another footnote…”
