(to rule or control)
§
It’s quite possible that this girl
is the most boring human being on the planet.
You aren’t sure that you’ve ever met anyone that is so inept at carrying
a conversation. Sure, she’s gorgeous. But nice tits and a see-through dress can
only get a person so far. Sometimes you
really hate your road crew for thinking that these are the only kind of women
you ever want to meet.
You’re doing your best to appear
interested but you forgot what she was talking about at least twenty minutes
ago. Searching for a way out, you look
up and seeing Rikki staring at you from across the room. You smile.
He winks. And then he’s walking
your way. You’ve never been so grateful
for anything in your entire life. The
girl in front of you perks up when Rikki puts his arm around your
shoulder. But not nearly as much as you
do.
“Hi, sweetheart.” You have to bite your tongue and remind
yourself that he isn’t talking to you.
The girl responds with something equally mushy and you check your urge
to vomit. “Do you mind if I borrow your
friend here for a minute? It’s
important.” A shiver runs down your
spine as you feel Rikki’s fingers press into your upper arm. And you no longer care who’s standing in
front of you. She could be a Playmate with the IQ of a Rocket Scientist and the
heart of Mother Theresa and you would still leave her for Rikki. Because no one could ever be like
Rikki. No one could even come
close. Not hearing what the fan’s reply
is, he leans over and says so only you can hear, “Your bus, five minutes, don’t
be late.” And then he walks away. You endure the torture of a picture and an
autograph before following him.
The bus is dark, quiet. You think to yourself that CC must be off
getting high again. This tour has been
one long cocaine induced frenzy for the guitar player. You wonder how much longer he will be able
to keep it up. His habit nearly ruined
the band once. And you can see it
happening again. Easily. It would only take one knock down, drag out
fight for Bret to… Your thoughts stop
suddenly when everything goes black.
Out of habit your hands fly up to grab at whatever is being wrapped
around your eyes. But then you hear
him. Rikki.
“Don’t.” One word. That’s all you
get. But it’s enough to set your mind
at ease. Well, not at ease,
really. The tension and fear of being
unable to see is actually a little worse knowing that he is in the room. Knowing that you have no idea what’s
coming. But you trust him. You probably shouldn’t. But you do.
You feel the soft cloth being tied
tightly around your head and you breathe deeply. Your mouth is dry. His
hands come up to your shoulders and he pushes you forward. You stumble but he doesn’t let you
fall. He pushes again and you take a
few more steps, your hands out in front of you, groping at the nothingness to try
and make yourself feel more secure. It
doesn’t work. With one final push you
find yourself falling. You land face
first on…something. It takes a second
but you eventually realize that it’s the leather couch in the back lounge of
your bus. At least you know where you
are now. And you can’t help but smile
when you hear him close the door, the lock clicking softly.
For a long time you hear nothing
and you begin to wonder if he’s left you in the room alone. You’d like to ask but are also afraid of what
he will do if he is still in the room.
You know his game. You aren’t
supposed to speak unless you’re spoken to.
So you remain silent. Even your
breathing is soft. You’re waiting. Waiting for something. Anything.
Some indication that he’s still here and he still wants you. The leather of the couch is sticky against
your face but you don’t dare move. Not
without his permission. And then,
finally, you feel his weight on the seat next to you. Your breath catches in your throat. But still, you wait.
The first time his fingertips
brush against your cheek you jump. The
touch is so light, so miniscule, yet completely unnerving. It leaves you wanting more. You swallow hard. “Turn over and lay down,” he tells you. And you do so without hesitation. Your head rests against the arm of the couch and your legs
stretch out across the seats. Which
means he’s no longer sitting there. You
wonder where he is now. More time goes
by and all you hear are the shallow breaths coming from your own lips. All you feel is the rapid beating of your
heart. All you smell is your own
cologne that you put on after showering before going out to meet fans. You feel isolated. Alone. And yes, a little
scared.
Without warning, his tongue traces
a gentle line down the side of your neck.
You gasp. But not nearly as loud
as when he repeats the action with something much colder. An ice cube. An ice cube that he is holding in his mouth. The ice melts as it comes in contact with
the heat of your skin, cold liquid slipping down your neck and into the collar
of your t-shirt. Goosebumps cover your
body and you shiver. You hear him spit
what little is left of the cube out of his mouth and onto the floor. And then his mouth is on you again. Warming the places that have been impossibly
frozen. No other part of him touches
you. And you know you can’t touch him,
either. Your hands ball into fists at
your sides. You arch your neck to give
him more access. He stops.
A hand rests gently on your
stomach now. He twists your shirt
around his fingers and pulls. You sit
up because you have to; he’s left no other choice. Your shirt is on the ground in a matter of seconds and then you
are once again pushed onto your back.
You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from shaking as his
hands set their sights on their next target.
Your jeans. With a skill that
you’ve never thought to inquire about, he unbuttons your pants. And then, with his mouth, he undoes the
zipper. You choke back a groan as you
feel his warm breath flickering across you.
He hooks his fingers in the belt loops and you raise your hips in an
attempt to aid him in riding you of this last barrier. The jeans soon join your shirt on the floor
of the bus.
You’re naked now and feeling all
the more vulnerable. Especially since
he hasn’t even spoken to you yet. And
he’s once again not touching you. You
strain your other senses trying to decipher which part of the room he has
retreated to. He’s good at this. The back lounge isn’t that large but still you
have no idea where he is. Just when
you’re beginning to relax again, you hear something. It sounds like a match being lit. You wait, but the smell of cigarette smoke doesn’t come to
you. Instead you detect the light scent
of vanilla. Candles? What kind of mood is Rikki in tonight? He’s never taken the time to actually light
candles. And frankly, you never thought
he would.
You hear him now, walking towards
you. Your heartbeat quickens. You feel yourself grow hard. And then you scream. Not whimper, not groan, but fucking
scream. You’ve never felt anything so
painful and all at once you realize why he lit a candle. The hot wax burns your abdomen and you’re
terrified because it’s frighteningly close to your cock and you can’t even
imagine what that would feel like it.
You pray that you never have to find out. The excruciating pain is soon mixed with pleasure as another ice
cube hits your flesh and you can’t help but lace your fingers through his hair
when he’s only inches away from your cock and it’s all so good that you can’t
even fucking stand it anymore. “Rikki,”
you moan. Your cock twitches when he
pulls away and your hands fall back to your sides.
He still isn’t talking but his
hand is gripping your cock now and he’s stroking you. Stroking you hard and fast and expertly and you can’t believe
that he’s actually giving you this kind of pleasure. You thank whatever far off rock god that has put the two of you
together in this situation tonight.
He’s still stroking you, even faster now. So fast that you can hear it as he spreads your juices over your
cock. Faster. Harder. Breathing is
difficult. You can’t swallow. Your toes curl. Your back arches. You
gasp for air. You cry out. And then he lets go. For several seconds your body stays rigid,
locked in that position, trying to inhale and exhale in some sort of normal
fashion. You were so close to an orgasm
that you could taste it. And now,
nothing. Nothing but his laughter. You slowly sink back into the couch and try
not to let your disappointment show.
It’s not an easy thing to do.
“So close,” you hear him
chuckle. “But so far away.” You can only sigh. “You really wanted that, didn’t you?” He doesn’t leave you time to answer. “Soon, amoureux,
soon.” You shiver at his use of
French. How does he do this to
you? Every. Single. Time. “But first…” He stands in front of you and
pushes himself against your lips. For
the first time you realize that he’s naked.
You open your mouth without thinking about it. Your head is at a strange angle but you take him in anyway. As much as you can. He’s big.
You can’t see him so Rikki takes
it upon himself to guide your mouth.
His hands are in your hair as he pushes your head up and down the length
of him. All you can really do is relax
your throat muscles and try not to gag.
This is for him. Your pleasure
isn’t a concern. It isn’t even
necessary. But that doesn’t stop your
cock from twitching against your stomach when he whimpers your name
softly. He doesn’t say that you’re
good. Doesn’t tell you he wants
more. Certainly doesn’t confess that he
loves you. But your name is enough. It’s all you need to hear to let you know
that his thoughts are on you.
“Bobby,” he says again, and you
groan around his cock. “Fuck. I’m gonna…” And then he’s spilling into your
mouth and you’re swallowing every bit that you can. Savoring the saltiness.
Savoring the manliness. Savoring
the essence of Rikki. As soon as he’s
finished he pulls away and then he’s kissing you. Hard. You’re not even
sure that you’ve swallowed everything and you’re scared that there will be hell
to pay but he doesn’t seem to notice.
He stretches his body out on top
of yours. Skin against skin. Limb against limb. Cock against cock. And
how he’s still hard you don’t know. His
nails scratch across your chest and you start to feel a bit lightheaded with
the lack of oxygen this kiss is allowing your brain to receive. He grinds against you. His lips finally pull away from your own
only to move to your ear. “Amoureux,”
he says again, “vous etes les miens.”
Lover, you’re mine. And you
are. Completely. There has never really been any doubt. Not since the very first time you were
together. You belong to him. And you wouldn’t change it even if you could. “You’re so hard,” he continues, tongue
kissing your ear as he speaks. You
manage a strangled whimper. Forming
words isn’t possible right now. “Can I
fuck you now?” Is he actually
asking? Yes! Of course he can! “Do you
want me to fuck you now?” He rewords
the question but it’s all the same to you.
“Yes, Rikki. Please.”
You push yourself against him, your juices making both of you stickier
than you already were.
“Please, what?” he teases,
reaching between your bodies and rubbing both of you together. You bite your lip and arch your neck. He nips at where your jugular is resting
below your skin.
“Take me,” you reply. “Fuck me.
I’m yours.”
“I know you are,” he tells you,
taking your hands and placing both of them over your head. “Mine and no one else’s. For always.”
You’re about to reply when he
enters you. And for once it’s slow,
long, drawn out. You sigh audibly and
try to catch his lips in a kiss but he moves away from you. “No,” he tells you. “Just feel this. Feel all of this. Feel
how good I am.” His voice drops a few
notches. “Feel how much you don’t
deserve this.”
And damn if you don’t agree with
him. You don’t deserve this. Nothing this good should ever be yours. But it is.
At least for the moment. You
will be his always. But you know he
won’t be yours. Sooner or later he will
tire of you and let Bret take up all of his time. But for now you have him.
And you never want to let him go.
He rests your ankles on his shoulders and fucks you softly. He makes you shake. You reach your hands up to touch him again
but he bats them away. “No,” he
growls. “Don’t touch. Just feel.”
It’s so hard to do but you try to
obey him. You want to touch him, taste
him, see him. But he isn’t allowing
that. All you can feel is his cock
pulling out and pushing back in.
Filling you completely. Over and
over and over. And it amazes you that,
even in his subtlety, he dominates you without question. He is still in charge, it doesn’t matter how
kind or caring he seems.
Your breathing accelerates as he
picks up speed. You can hear his
labored breaths as well. You know he is
close. And you want him to come. Need him to come. Because you’re going to come and you can’t do it alone. He pulls the blindfold off you suddenly and
you blink several times to adjust to even the dim track lighting on the
bus. And then he lays on you fully, his
stomach rubbing against your cock. And
this is a new position. A strange
position. And you wonder when you got
so flexible. You never knew it was
possible for your legs to bend like that.
You want to laugh at the thought but don’t because he takes your breath
away.
The slow, languid pace is fast
now. Hard. Erratic. And his hands
are pulling at your hair and bringing tears to your eyes that you know won’t
spill onto your cheeks because you won’t let them. Why cry when something is this good? Your nails claw at the leather beneath you as you clench around
him, his stomach applying just the right amount of pressure. And then you’re there. Your come is spraying into what little space
there is between you and you’re crying out his name and fuck and yes and biting
back proclamations of love. He follows
you quickly, holding completely still as he finishes. His hands pound your head into the arm of the couch. It hurts but you don’t complain. He can do what he wants to you after an
orgasm like this one.
After you both catch your breath
Rikki pulls away from you and slips back into his jeans. He doesn’t put his shirt on, just tosses it
over his shoulder. “Stand up,” he tells
you. And you do. He narrows the space between you, draws him
arm back, and punches you directly in the face before you can do anything to
stop him.
“Fuck,” you shout as you fall back
against the couch. You can feel the
blood spurting from your noise. You
blink back tears
“You don’t come until I fucking tell you to.” He slams the door as he leaves.