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The security at little shows like this is always shit. There’s one pig at the entrance jacking off into a donut hole if you’re lucky, and that’s it. The pat down couldn’t detect a suicide bomber, and the crowd is mostly insecure white guys and their fat girlfriends. Eminem didn’t spend his money on a ticket but he can’t escape the feeling that he’s owed a refund - some kind of retribution.

He doesn’t even have to use his celebrity status to slink back stage and spy the stupid white toothpick standing there alone, shirtless and sweaty from an hour long performance. His tattoos glint like black diamonds under the overhead light. Eminem watches as he snatches a water bottle off an idle stool, steadily draining it until plastic crinkling fills the room and it folds in on itself.

It doesn’t take long for the performer to start swaying on his feet. Eminem tightens his grip on the knife in his pocket and steps out from the shadows. His hood is still up, and from this distance Eminem knows he can’t make out his face.

“Hey there Richard - or should I call you Colson?” Eminem laughs at the dumbstruck look on his face. “You are like a son to me after all.”

“What the fuck?”

For a machine gun, he’s slow to react. He turns and tips like an overfilled glass of milk, throwing his arms out at his sides to right his balance. Eminem pulls back his hood to reveal his face, brow furrowed, eyes hollow. He brandishes the knife from his pocket and flicks the switch with his thumb.

“Remember when you said you’d fuck my daughter Hailie?”

The other rapper flinches, stepping back as Eminem pushes forward, pupils the size of pinheads. He braces himself when his back touches the wall. Eminem’s lips twist into a smile at the telltale signs of incoordination.

“Did you -” His eyes unfocus and his speech slurs together. “Did you drug me?”

“Consider it the Shady special.” Eminem lets out a bark of laughter. “Roofied your dumb ass. Easier than an underage whore.”

“Fuck you.” The fury in his eyes is quickly fading to fear. “I’ve got security everywhere.”

“You suck at lying,” Eminem says. “And I know a punk-ass like you can’t afford to take me to court.”

He glances both ways to make sure he’s in the clear before crushing him against the wall, pressing the edge of the blade into his throat until it draws a neat line of blood. The wallpaper looks familiar enough that maybe he’s been here before, performed in this venue. Kelly’s Adam’s apple nudges the knife when he tries to swallow. His eyes skirt to the door and his body tenses.

“’re fucking crazy!”

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Eminem slugs him in the gut with the butt of the knife, forcing the air from his lungs with his fist. When he drops to the ground, his knees pop from the carefully placed rips in his jeans. Eminem yanks his head back by the knot of hair tied on top. His eyes are watering and he’s struggling to suck in air.

“Who’s looking up at who now?” Eminem claws at his scalp, dragging his face into the crotch of his pants. “Do it. Get my dick inside your mouth before I break your fucking jaw.”

The words come out semi automatic. Eminem forces his pants button through the slit and tears the zipper down with one hand, knife point scraping Kelly’s jugular. His palms are sweaty by the time he grabs hold of his cock, positioned at his mouth like a weapon. He slaps him in the face with it before pushing it against his lips, punishing.

“Stop acting like you ain’t never sucked dick.” Eminem shoves his sneaker between his legs. “You even think about biting me, and I’ll stomp your nuts off.”

Eminem grips his jaw and pushes his cock into his mouth, where it throbs and comes to life, hot with blood. Kelly tries to twist away but his muscles move like pool noodles, tongue flattened by the underside of his shaft. His protests are drowned out by Eminem’s fat cock plunging down the wet sleeve of his throat.

“That’s it,” Eminem praises.

Kelly gags like a catholic school girl, choking on strings of precum and saliva when Eminem finally pulls out. He looks faded, eyes empty and unfocused - the same as a stripper. The knife falls to the floor when Eminem slaps his face. The other rapper blinks up at him, eyelids heavy, lips raw.

“Stay with me Kells,” Eminem hisses, gripping his hair until his knuckles turn white. He grabs the base of his length with one hand and pushes it back in Kelly’s mouth. “Suck Daddy’s dick good.”

The younger man gurgles around the cock knocking the back of his throat. His nostrils flare when Eminem tilts his hips, sinking in until his wiry pubes are scratching his face. He eases out just enough to create more space before thrusting forcefully back inside, creating a wet sound. Eminem squeezes the base of his dick, moving too fast for Kelly to get any suction, abusing his mouth like a cunt.

“Such a good boy for me,” Eminem coos.

Kelly’s chest shudders, but when he tries to pull back for a breath he can’t, trapped by Eminem’s hand around his skull. Pleasure spikes in Eminem’s belly and breezes through his blood like a hurricane. His cock jerks against the roof of his mouth before squirting a thick rope of cum across the back of his throat.

“You want my milk, huh? You always liked dickeating.” He digs his dick deeper and unleashes another spray of cum. “Choke on it you fucking bitch.”


They wake up simultaneously in a cold sweat, separated by several thousand miles. Marshall tears the sheet off his bed, revealing the boxers glued to his thighs. Colson wipes the sweat beading on his brow and takes a deep breath. Phew. It was just a dream.

“Damn, that was fucked up.” Marshall closes his laptop while Colson erases his browsing history. “I gotta stop watching Youtube before bed.”