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Much A-Dew About Something

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I spotted him across the bar not long after I sat down. His hair was longer than I was expecting, having read conflicting reports on social media regarding its length; part of it hung loosely over his shoulder, the rest down his back. He held a cigarette in his long, thin guitarist fingers, bringing it to his lips occasionally for a drag. The fingers of his other hand were wrapped around a glass containing a clear liquid of some sort. He sat alone, quietly minding his own business. His tongue flicked out of his mouth as he licked his lips, his steely blue eyes surveying the establishment’s other patrons.

His eyes met mine, and I held his glance for a few seconds before I looked away, my cheeks quickly burning up. I gave it a few moments, and then I peered at him again, trying to be more subtle this time. He absentmindedly fiddled with the silver pentagram necklace that lay against his upper chest, the glass now empty and abandoned in front of him. The cigarette made its way to his mouth again for a long drag, his eyes narrowing as he observed me from where he sat.

I could feel his eyes on me as the bartender set another glass of wine in front of me and proceeded to carry on a short conversation. I thanked him and offered him a smile, looking over his shoulder at the slender guitarist on the other side of the bar, biting my bottom lip as our eyes met again. He raised an eyebrow, then licked his lips as we gazed at each other; he was the first to look away, taking a deep breath and then exhaling as he ran his fingers through his long hair, tossing it back behind his shoulder. He took a final drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray in front of him, holding the smoke in for a moment before he parted his lips slightly to blow it out.

The bartender had moved on to other patrons and eventually made his way over to the man I strongly suspected to be the lead guitarist of Ghost, the Nameless Ghoul known as Dew. His identifying tattoos weren’t visible due to the black track jacket he wore, but even without seeing his distinguishing body art, I was certain it was him. And while I wasn’t usually interested in men that were as thin as he was, he was an exception: his fiery and oftentimes lewd onstage antics had caught my attention, and a curiosity about the man behind the mask ensued. From the way his inner thighs managed to jiggle despite being so lean, to the way his skilled digits moved deftly along his guitar, to the way he’d suggestively lick his guitar picks or deep-throat his own long fingers, the Swedish native was unconventionally hot.

Sitting across the rectangular bar from me in his street clothes with his defined features unobscured by a mask, I was pleasantly surprised with how attractive he was, the pictures I’d seen not fully doing him justice. He wasn’t attractive in the same vein as some of the other members of Ghost, both past and present, but the lead guitarist definitely had his own brand of attractive going on.

A short conversation between him and the bartender ensued before he slid off his barstool and walked towards the back of the bar and out of my view. I sighed, mentally kicking myself for not going over to say “hi” while I had the chance, resigned to the fact that I had likely blown that opportunity. I looked at my phone to check the time, deciding that I would leave after I was done with this glass of wine. I brought the stemware to my lips and took a drink, savoring the clean, crisp, fruity flavor of the Moscato.

I asked the bartender for my tab the next time he was in my vicinity, and he informed me that it had already been settled, but wouldn’t tell me who had done so when I asked. The barkeep smirked as he set another glass of Moscato in front of me and a tall glass of what looked like club soda in front of the empty seat to my right. “I’m sorry,” I began, a confused look on my face. “I didn’t order these…” The bartender smirked again and continued to the next patron, while I heard a voice from behind me. “But I did.” I turned my head to the right, towards the source of the voice, and it was him: the guitarist. “Is this seat taken?” he asked politely as he gestured towards the stool in front of him. I overcame my initial shock and shook my head, finally remembering to blink and breathe, and I watched as sat down next to me.

I realized how dry my throat suddenly felt, so I took a gulp of my Moscato, finishing off my existing glass. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for his glass and take a quick sip before setting it back on the counter. He cleared his throat, and then spoke. “Are you from around here?”

I swiveled my barstool slightly in his direction, enough so I could look at him without having my head turned the entire time. “No, I’m visiting friends,” I replied as I shook my head. I was far from home and on my first trip abroad in over a decade. A few countries, the Atlantic Ocean, and several states separated me from my regular life. “American?” he ventured, picking up on my accent, and I nodded. “Where are your friends this evening?”

I gave him a slight shrug. “They had a previous engagement, so I’m fending for myself tonight,” I explained with a smile. He raised his eyebrow and offered a small smile of his own. “What brings you to town?” I queried even though I already knew the answer: the band was performing at a local arena tomorrow night, with this being their off night.

He took a sip of his drink. “I’m in town on business,” he replied. I figured he wouldn’t be able to talk about his involvement with the band due to contractual obligations and whatnot, so I played along. “Oh? What kind of business?” I asked with a bit of a smirk. He huffed out a laugh. “Entertainment,” the guitarist responded, also with a smirk and an added twinkle in his eyes. I softly chuckled at his answer; he wasn’t being dishonest, that’s for sure. “Any plans while you’re here?” he queried. “I do, actually,” I began. “I’m going to a concert tomorrow night.” His eyebrows raised and his lips curled into a closed mouth smile. “And who are you going to go see?” he asked with feigned curiosity in his voice. “Ghost. Have you heard of them?” I bit my bottom lip as I tried—but failed—to suppress a smile. He narrowed his eyes in faux contemplation. “Rings a bell. Band from Sweden, right?” I nod, and his shoulders shake a little from a silent laugh as his long fingers wrap around his glass again. “So, you like them, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that I’m a fan,” I replied before we both took swigs of our respective drinks. He hummed in approval with a small nod. “Do you have a favorite band member?” I bit my bottom lip again, and I noticed his eyes move from mine to my lips. With his right hand, he reached over and cupped my left cheek, his thumb running along my bottom lip. “It’s really cute when you bite your lip like that,” he softly observed. “Kind-of makes me want to bite it.”

Our eyes met, and then he slowly started to lean towards me, closer and closer until we were only a few inches apart. He licked his lips. “Do you mind if I…?” He trailed off, but I nodded and gave my consent for whatever he had in mind. He removed his thumb from my bottom lip, and then pressed his lips against mine. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the softness of his lips as we kissed. He tilted his head slightly, deepening our kiss, his lips becoming more insistent. His lips parted; I felt his tongue run against my bottom lip, and then he gently took it between his teeth, tugging gently as he pulled away.

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His hand dropped from my face as he settled back into his seat. “Where were we?” he asked with a smirk, and I contemplated for a moment before responding. “You had asked if I had a favorite band member,” I reminded him, and he nodded. “So, do you?” He raised an eyebrow as he awaited my answer. “I’ll admit that I’m partial to the guitarists,” I began. “Specifically, lead and rhythm.” He hummed in approval. “That lead guitarist is pretty awesome,” he agreed with a chuckle, and I laughed at his modesty, or lack thereof, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “So, uh…what do you like about him?” the guitarist queried as his long fingers stroked his chin, and my eyes followed their movements. “Well, his fingers, for one,” I confessed before biting my bottom lip again.

“Do you know what that’s doing to me?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes fixed on my lips. I shook my head. “No, but maybe you should tell me,” I playfully suggested. His steely blue eyes narrowed as he mulled it over, and it was a few moments before he spoke again. “I think I’d rather show you,” he indecently proposed. A flush crept up my face, and it suddenly felt very warm in there. I nodded slowly, agreeing to whatever he had in mind despite not actually knowing what I had agreed to; it was unlikely that I would ever have an opportunity like this in my lifetime, and it was mine for the taking now. Plus, I had some curiosities to settle.

The guitarist swiveled our barstools so we were facing each other, our knees grazing as we turned. Despite not being especially tall, he had impressively long legs, a slight majority of the length concentrated between his hips and knees. He glanced around us and then returned his attention to me. He reached towards me, taking one of my hands in his and guiding it to and pressing against his upper thigh, and I instantly knew what I was doing to him. “Bite your lip again,” he instructed, and I took my bottom lip between my teeth, instantly feeling his hardening cock twitch under my hand. I started to move my hand along his length, slowly stroking him through his pants, and I could tell that his legs weren’t the only impressive thing below his belt.

I watched as his head lolled back slightly. He surveyed the room through half-lidded eyes as I continued my ministrations, and it wasn’t long before he was fully erect. A soft moan escaped his lips, followed by a whispered “fuck”. Soon after, he gently grabbed my wrist, halting my motions with a breathless laugh. “We’d better stop before I…” He trailed off and didn’t elaborate, but I knew what he meant. He had let go of my wrist, and my hand rested on his thigh with his hand atop it. The guitarist took a moment to collect himself before he spoke again. “So…his fingers. Anything else you like about him?”

His tongue! my brain screamed, and I saw no reason to be shy about this; as it’s been said, fortune favors the bold. “His tongue. Like, I’m curious what he can do with it,” I confessed with a coy smile. “Especially in tandem with his fingers.” He gazed at me, his eyes blazing with lust, piercing me at my core and igniting a most delicious ache. The guitarist inhaled deeply, like he could smell my arousal and the pheromones I was putting out. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. “We’re staying at the hotel across the street, if you’d care to join me for the evening,” he offered with a raised eyebrow. “’We’?” I responded curiously, and he smirked. “I’m here with some…colleagues. We have our own rooms,” he explained. “So?”

My lips curled into a smile, and I nodded. “Sure, I’d enjoy that.”

We finished what was left of our drinks, and he settled his tab with the bartender before we left the bar together. Once outside, his arm slipped around my waist as we crossed the street to the hotel, and mine followed suit, coming to a rest on his hip. We entered the hotel and crossed the lobby to the elevator. He hit the button for the fifth floor, and the doors closed. Seeing that we had the elevator to ourselves, he pushed me against a side wall, caging me between his arms as we journeyed upwards. After a burning glance, he caught me slightly off-guard as he dipped his head a bit and swiftly pressed his mouth against mine. His smooth, demanding lips parted my own, and his tongue plunged inside my mouth, luring my tongue to entwine with his. I looped my arms around his neck, my fingers lacing through his long hair, which was surprisingly silky and well-kempt.

Seconds later, the doors parted with a ding, and we reluctantly parted. “Come on…” he said, still slightly breathless from the kiss, as he took my hand and led me out of the elevator and then down the hall to his room. I stood behind him as he fumbled through his wallet, trying to locate the keycard, wrapping my arms around him and pressing my breasts against his back, my chin nestled in the crook of his neck. His hair smelled as if it had been freshly shampooed, yet carried a hint of cigarette smoke from the bar. “Fuck,” he whispered, frustrated that he was unable to find our source of entry to the room. “Check your front pockets,” I murmured into his ear as a suggestion. He shrugged in response, but checked anyway, hitting pay dirt when he pulled it out of his right pocket. The guitarist smirked over his shoulder at me before unlocking the door. The lock clicked and the security light flashed green; he opened the door, and we stepped inside.

His track jacket was unzipped before the door had even closed behind us, and he quickly slipped it off before pulling off the t-shirt underneath it, both articles of clothing tossed to the floor. I removed my shirt and added it to our growing pile of discarded clothes. I turned to face him, my eyes taking in the sight of him as he slowly advanced towards me. The guitarist was pale and tattooed with silver hoops running through his pierced nipples, and he was so lean that I could almost count his ribs. His lengthy arms were thin but toned, and the veins on his forearms and hands were visible and well-defined. His infamous “SODOMIZER” tattoo arced above his belly-button, and a thin trail of hair below it descended into the beltline of his jeans. I could see the outline of his cock, which again appeared to be well on its way to being fully erect after our exchange in the elevator. The penetrating intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine.

Once the space between us had been closed, he went in for another scalding kiss, his lips simultaneously and conflictingly soft and hard at the same time; their soft texture juxtaposed with pressure at which his lips pressed against mine, the amount of desire and intensity behind it all was as if we’d been waiting for this for ages and not just the brief amount of time it had actually been. I realized he didn’t even know my name, but what did it matter now?

I moved my hands to his narrow chest, and his skin was so warm, like he really was a Fire ghoul and had an inferno burning within. I gently pushed him away, his lips still chasing after mine. My fingers found his piercings, and I grasped each between my thumbs and index fingers, slightly tugging on the metal that had been warmed by his skin as I started to move backwards, slowly pulling him with me. He let out a shuddering breath as his pupils flared, and I soon felt the bed against the backs of my legs.

The guitarist guided my hands away from his chest, and I let them drop to my sides. His eyes narrowed as he pushed a few strands of hair behind my ear, and his lips brushed against mine. I could see his chest rapidly rising and falling, short puffs of air coming from his nose. And just when I started to wonder what he would do next, he made his move by spinning me around so I faced the bed. He quickly unfastened my bra, and then slid the straps off my shoulders and down my arms, tossing the pink satin fabric to the floor.

He pressed his chest against my back, cupping my breasts from behind, and I could feel his cock against the small of my back. My head lolled back, resting against his shoulder as he tweaked my nipples between his nimble fingers. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his hand rising momentarily to push my hair out of the way before returning to the breast from which it had originated, and then I felt his hot breath against my skin.

A moan escaped my lips as he continued to work my nipples, and I felt his tongue drag up the side of my neck to my ear, and then along the shell before reversing course, stopping at my earlobe and sucking it into his mouth. His hands soon traveled south, running over my ribcage, down my abdomen, and then disappearing under the waistbands of my leggings and panties. I felt his fingers trail along my pubic bone on each side, meeting in the middle on my mound before moving between my legs. One hand caressed my inner thigh while the other slid between my lower lips, gliding through the arousal he had caused. “You’re already so wet for me,” he whispered in my ear as his middle finger dipped inside of me. “You want to come on my fingers?” I nodded with a whimper, his crooked finger quickly finding my g-spot. He added his index finger and went to work, playing me like I was one of his guitars.

I had one hand grasping his forearm while the other was over his hand that was fingering me, except on the outside of my leggings like I was trying to keep his hand where I both wanted and needed it most. “Right…right there, right there…don’t stop…please don’t stop…” I breathlessly urged him between moans. I was getting close, and it wouldn’t take much more to put me over the edge. I was throbbing for him, all nerves electrified from his deft touch, and it was almost too much. And just as I was about to push his hand away for a reprieve, it felt like something inside had snapped, unleashing an orgasm that had me feeling like I had left my body for a few moments.

His fingers finally relented when the spasms within ceased, and he slowly slid them out, bringing them up to my lips. I sucked his fingers into my mouth, tasting myself as I swirled my tongue around his digits before his hand moved to his own mouth. I turned my head to watch him over my shoulder as he savored my essence with a moan.

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The guitarist’s mouth finds mine from over my shoulder, and our tongues meet; the kiss tastes of me. Our lips separated, and we looked at each other through half-lidded eyes, his crinkling at the corners as his lips curled into a smile, which I returned. My eyes closed as he pressed his lips against my cheek, dragging them lightly down my face to my shoulder. He lingered there momentarily as he gathered my hair in his right hand and tossed my tresses over my right shoulder. His lips trailed to the back of my neck, and then traveled down my spine. He dropped to his knees behind me, resting his forehead against my back as his hands moved to my sides, tugging my leggings and panties down. He kissed, licked, and nibbled my skin as it was exposed.

He instructed me to bend over the bed and spread my legs even though I was somewhat constricted with my bottoms around my ankles, but I complied. I gasped as he bit my left ass cheek—not hard, but hard enough—and I heard him chuckle at my reaction as he smoothed his hand over it, and then his lips, and then his tongue. His right hand kneaded the other side, making sure it wasn’t neglected. The guitarist moved back and forth from cheek to cheek as he worshipped my derrière for a few minutes. His attention eventually shifted to the space between my legs; his hands caressed the backs and then the insides of my thighs, placing kisses where his hands had been, traveling upwards and inwards until I felt his tongue between my labia. My breathing hitched when his sinful tongue made contact with my clit, the tip swirling repeatedly over my sensitive flesh until it was swollen and throbbing.

The guitarist sat back on his heels for a moment, running his hands over my hips and outer thighs. “Stand up and turn around,” he directed. Once I was facing him again, he lifted my legs one by one, removing my shoes and socks, and then my leggings and panties while I used his shoulder to keep my balance. He next had me sit on the edge of the bed and then lay back as he got situated on the floor with my thighs over his shoulders. I propped myself up on my elbows and watched him with bated breath as he blazed a trail with his mouth along the insides of my thighs that would surely leave marks behind. Souvenirs to remember him by, perhaps.

He reached the apex between my thighs; his eyes met mine before they closed again, and then he buried his face in my cunt. His nose rubbed against my clit while his lips and tongue lapped at my wetness, his tongue making its way to and then inside of my entrance. His tongue explored me, whirling around my walls. Deciding he wanted more access, he lifted my legs off his shoulders and spread them as wide as he could. The guitarist slid a couple of long fingers into me, curling them slightly in order to perfectly hit my g-spot. His lips closed around my clit, alternating between sucking on it and teasing the sensitive nub with his tongue. I’d long since collapsed back on the bed, the sheets balled in my fists as he brought me closer and closer to my second orgasm of the evening.

His free hand slid up my body, stopping to grope my breasts before continuing upwards to my mouth. My lips wrapped around his fingers, my tongue twirling around them, somewhat stifling my moans of appreciation.

The closer I got to my climax, the more my hips bucked; he made no efforts to restrain my movements, seeming perfectly content to let me use his fingers and tongue as I pleased. His free hand drifted back down to my breasts, and it wasn’t long before I reached the point of no return. My face contorted, and the room was filled with my cries of passion as that second climax hit me in waves. I rode my orgasm out on his face and hand, my juices dripping down his chin and onto his chest.

My body eventually relaxed again as I caught my breath and recovered, and I pulled myself farther onto the bed after he lowered my legs. As I stared at the ceiling with my chest still heaving, I could see out of my periphery that he had risen to his feet. I propped myself up on my elbows again, my left leg dangling over the side of the bed at my knee, while my right leg was bent with my foot resting on the edge of the bed, and I watched him as he unbuckled his belt, his eyes not leaving mine. His fingers then moved to the button and zipper of his jeans, undoing each before he pushed them off his hips and down his legs, removing his boots and socks before stepping out of his jeans.

The guitarist stood confidently before me, and my eyes wandered down his body, following the thin trail of hair below his belly-button that led to a trimmed patch of pubic hair. His cock’s length and girth were as impressive as they had initially felt under my hand while we were still at the bar, and his member jutted straight out from his body. He quirked an eyebrow as if to silently ask if I liked what I saw, and I bit my lip as I slowly nodded in appreciation; his cock twitched at the site as it had earlier.

He placed a knee between my thighs, the mattress dipping slightly as he joined me on the bed. He straddled my left leg, and then leaned over my body, planting his hands next to my arms. He licked his lips as his face neared mine with a smoldering look in his eyes, and I felt his cockhead dragging on my thigh, leaving a trail of precum in its wake. Our lips met briefly before his skimmed down to my neck, and I tilted my head back to give him better access. The guitarist dragged his tongue along my sensitive flesh, stopping right below my ear and taking the lobe gently between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue. He moved momentarily, guiding me deeper onto the bed. Picking up where he left off before we were fully situated, his mouth moved along my jawline and back to my lips for a hungry kiss as he pushed me into the pillows, his hair cascading around us as we descended, his body now fully on top of mine.

I ran my fingers through his mane as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He ground his pronounced hips against mine, and I could feel the length of his cock rubbing against my lower lips. I wanted to do so many things both to and with his dick; the night had been all about me thus far, and I deeply desired to make him feel every bit as good as he had made me feel. My hands roamed down his back while we continued to kiss, only parting briefly here and there to catch our breaths, and they settled on his ass, groping at the small amount of flesh that I found.

As I attempted to slide one hand between us so I could stroke his length, he grabbed my wrist, and our kiss came to an end. The guitarist pulled away and rolled onto his right side next to me on the bed. “What…?” I breathlessly asked. He quirked an eyebrow at me as he started to trail his index finger along my torso. “We’re going to play a game,” he began in a low voice. “And the object of the game is to see how many times I can make you come, and in how many different ways, depending on what you’re open to.”

My eyes searched his for a moment before I responded, not quite knowing where to start with his statement: the fact that I wanted to also make him come, or to question the last part. I decided on the former. “Why not see how many times we can make each other come?” I suggested, and he silently considered it while he studied me, his chest rising and falling as his breathing regulated. “Is that what you want?” he queried, and I nodded without otherwise responding. His eyes drifted down my body to where his fingers were lazily drawing random shapes on my abdomen. “Alright, then. What are you open to?” I shrugged slightly. “How about you tell me what you’re into, and we’ll go from there?”

I changed my positioning so I was on my side, facing him. His left hand made its way to my exposed hip and then slid to my derrière, kneading my flesh while my right hand slowly moved up and down his arm. His eyes flickered up to meet mine. “Well, most people are fairly…how do I describe it?” he contemplated for a moment. “Vanilla?” I offered, and he nodded. “Yes, most people are fairly vanilla when it comes to sex, which is fine,” he explained. “Vanilla sex can still be plenty fun, don’t get me wrong. And if that’s what you decide you want, I will respect that.”

My hand moved down his body from his arm, eventually finding his cock. I wrapped my hand around his girth, and started to stroke him slowly from base to tip, causing his breathing to hitch. His eyes closed, and he licked his lips. “Fuck,” he exhaled. “That feels so, so good…”

“Continue,” I whispered to him. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and his eyes opened, but only halfway. “Many do not know the story behind my tattoo,” He paused as his hand moved from my ass momentarily to gesture at his “SODOMIZER” tattoo before returning to its previous location. “Like with sex, there’s a vanilla version where I tell people that it’s because of what I do to my guitars…” A moan escaped his lips before he continued. “…how I play them, that’s it’s as unnatural as sodomy is considered by those with vanilla tastes. And it’s not a lie…” Another pause for another moan. “…that’s where the nickname came from. It just became a thing. But the non-vanilla version that only a select few get to hear is that I do have a proclivity for anal play.”

“So, you like anal sex?” I queried, and he smirked. “I do, but it’s not limited to that because I also enjoy rimming and fingering, being the giver and the receiver for both.” I looked at him curiously. “Anything else?” The guitarist chuckled softly. “There’s always something else, isn’t there?” He paused for a low moan after I slightly tightened my grip on his cock. “Fuck, don’t stop…” He closed his eyes and let his head loll back. I leaned towards him and languidly ran my tongue up his neck. “Continue,” I whispered into his ear. “Pegging,” he quickly replied, his face contorting as I kept stroking him. “I-I enjoy being pegged.” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Do you have a strap-on?” He nodded quickly. “I do. Well, it’s my…my girlfriend’s, really. We have an open relationship and play with others sometimes. She’s out with one of my bandm—colleagues, I mean—right now.”

“She won’t mind if I use it on you then?” I asked as I squeezed him a little harder and started stroking a bit faster. “Fuck!” he moaned. “N-no…she won’t mind. She…she won’t mind at…at all.” With the way he seemed to be coming apart, I sensed that he was close. I scooted down the bed so I’d be able to take his cum in my mouth, and I continued my ministrations in silence for a few moments. “So, you want me to fuck you then…?” I finally asked, feeling his cock twitching in my hand. “Yes!” he loudly moaned as he threw his head back. His body tensed for a moment, and I wrapped my lips around his cockhead just in time for him to spurt his hot seed in my mouth.

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The guitarist rolled onto his back. “Fuck,” he sighed as he tried to catch his breath. “Just give me a minute here.” I returned to my previous position and was again on my side next to him, my left hand propping my head, my elbow resting against a pillow while my right hand made its way down his sternum and then leisurely traced the letters of his tattoo with my index finger. With a tilt of his head, he beckoned me to come closer, and when I did, he took me in his wiry arms and pulled me mostly on top of him. He smiled as I let out a surprised giggle.

I carefully swung my right leg over him and adjusted myself so I was straddling his hips with my upper body pressed against his. Almost incredibly, his cock was still hard, and I could feel its underside between my labia. I slowly rocked my hips and slid myself back and forth along its length. His steely blue eyes burned into mine as we gazed at each other. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he murmured to me. His dick twitched under me as I bit my bottom lip, and I heard him emit a soft moan.

As much as I wanted the guitarist to fuck me, I was currently more interested in the prospect of fucking him with that strap-on. He’d most definitely be balls deep in me before our time together came to an end, but for now, I really wanted to see what kind of moans I could extract from the man under me.

I shook my head as I gave him a coquettish grin. “Not quite yet,” I replied. “I want to fuck you first…”

Moments later, he left the bed and disappeared into the bathroom before returning with the strap-on and a bottle of lube. I watched him approach from my perch on the edge of the bed; his eyes moved from the contents of his hands to mine as if he was gauging my reaction to the realistic-looking flesh-toned dildo with its black harness, and I felt my lips curl into a smile. I held out my hands and reached for the strap-on, and I found no resistance from the guitarist as I took it from him. I ran my fingers over the texturized dildo, feeling how its surface mimicked the topography of an actual cock. It was approximately seven inches with a decent girth and a slight upward curve, and a couple of perfectly shaped balls hung under the base.

“Have you done this before?” he asked, and I nodded in response. “Many times, actually,” I casually replied. “My boyfriend back home also enjoys being pegged.” He quirked an eyebrow. “You have a boyfriend?”

I nodded again. “I do, but we also have an open relationship, like you and your girlfriend,” I elaborated. “He travels a lot for work, so we play with others when the need strikes.” He gave an understanding hum as he nodded. “But when you’re together…?”

“I’m sure it’s like when you’re with your girlfriend: you make the most of it, right?” I reasoned with a smirk and a shrug, and he softly chuckled. “Indeed we do,” he sighed as he ran his free hand through his long hair, tucking some loose strands behind his ear. “But enough of that,” I began with a smirk as I held up the strap-on. “Because we have some fun to be had.”

I made my way off the bed as he flopped onto it with the bottle of lube still in hand, and he watched as I stepped into the waistband and pulled it up my legs until it was in place. I made a few adjustments, including trying to make it so the thin back-strap between my ass cheeks was as comfortable as possible, which was a near mission impossible. After it was situated enough, I took the shaft in my hand and ran it along the length of the dildo. I raised an eyebrow as my eyes met his. “Well, what do you think?” I queried with a smirk. He looked so hot laying there in front of me; on his side with his head propped up by one hand while the other languidly stroked his cock.

The guitarist licked his lips before letting out a low whistle as his eyes roamed my body. “I think you need to get the fuck over here so you can fuck me,” he said in a near growl that sent an anticipatory shiver down my spine. He got onto his hands and knees as I approached the bed, his knees right at the edge, and I stepped between his legs. I ran my hand down his back, feeling his ribs under my fingertips. He pushed himself up onto his knees, and then grabbed the bottle of lube. “I’ll get myself ready while you lube up,” he murmured to me over his shoulder, and I nodded. He flipped the cap open and squeezed a liberal amount onto his fingertips before handing the bottle to me.

He reached behind himself and spread the lube between his cheeks and over his hole; he then proceeded to slide a couple of his long fingers inside himself in an effort to get prepared for me. In the meantime, I applied an ample amount of lube to the dildo, making sure it was nice and slick for the guitarist. Once he was finished, he leaned forward to rest on his forearms, perking up his small ass. I took the base in one hand and guided it to his sufficiently-stretched hole while my other hand smoothed along his cheek.

The guitarist drew in a sharp breath as I slowly pushed the dildo inside of him. “Fuck, that feels so good,” he murmured with a soft chuckle before I had the chance to ask if he was okay, and I hummed in approval. As I started to fuck him, he buried his face in the comforter, effectively stifling most of his moans. He took that PVC cock so well, and I couldn’t help but wonder how often he and his girlfriend engaged in this act. It obviously wasn’t his first rodeo, nor was it mine.

I held his bony hips as I thrust into him repeatedly, and after several minutes, I heard him utter a muffled request. “Harder…” I immediately picked up the pace, and kept it up until he lifted his head and looked at me over his shoulder. I slowed my thrusting but didn’t stop. “Mind if we change positions?” he managed to puff out despite being almost out of breath. “I…I really want to ride you.”

Moments later, I found myself with my back against the bed as he straddled me. I rested my hands on his thin thighs, marveling at their capability to jiggle as much as they do despite being so lean; it was astounding, really. He wrapped his hand around the base of the dildo and lined it up before sinking down. His head lolled back as inch by inch disappeared inside of him, and he shuddered once it was fully sheathed within his ass. “Unholy fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth. It took a few moments before he started to experimentally move his hips in tight circles, and before too long, he was bouncing on my lap with reckless abandon as his hard cock bobbed up and down with each rise and fall.

The guitarist attempted to wrap a hand around his dick, but I swatted it away before he had the chance, using mine for the task instead. “You’re gonna make me cum,” he moaned as his half lidded eyes gazed down at me. “Isn’t that the objective?” I replied with a smirk as I began stroking him at the same pace in which he was fucking himself on the dildo. His steely blue eyes maintained their intensity despite how blissed out he was, and it wasn’t too long before he announced that he was about to cum. Just as his cock erupted, there was a click at the door, and it swung open. As his seed spurted on my abdomen and breasts, a tall and broad man I recognized as the band’s rhythm guitarist stood in the doorway, gaping at us as he took in the scene and got quite the eyeful.