(to gain entrance to)
§
You stand off to the side of the
venue, looking at all of the scantily clad women lined up to meet their
favorite rock star. The lead singer of
your band. One of your best
friends. You know that you should walk
over and at least make small talk with a few of them. Help to make their evening just that much more memorable. But you aren’t in the mood. You can’t figure out why you aren’t in the
mood, but you aren’t. You jump,
startled, when you feel a hand on your shoulder. And then you notice how even more attention from the girls in
line has suddenly been directed your way.
You know without looking who is standing behind you. And you aren’t sure if you have the strength
to turn around and face him.
Things have been awkward between
you and Rikki since…well…since you let him fuck you. You haven’t talked about it.
You figure there’s nothing to say.
But there is. You’d like to tell
him how much you actually enjoyed it.
How much you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But something keeps you silent. Fear, you think. Fear of what he’ll do.
What he’ll say. What he won’t say. Since that night one thing has become painfully obvious to you. Bret and Rikki are fucking. And the signs are so blatant that you don’t
understand how you didn’t see it before.
It’s probably because you didn’t care before. But you do now. And
that’s just one more thing that you don’t want to talk about with Rikki. Unless you were to say that you don’t like
it, the idea of him and Bret together.
But you can’t say that. Rikki
probably wouldn’t care anyway, you think.
Reluctantly, you turn your head to
look at him. “No Meet and Greet
tonight?” you ask, although the fact that he’s standing there makes the answer
to that question apparent. He shrugs.
“I cancelled it. There are more important things I need to
do.” Your stomach does a somersault.
“Like what?”
“Talk to you.” He smiles but it is deceptive. “Come on,” he adds, motioning with his head
towards the door that leads back inside the venue. He turns and walks away but you don’t follow him at first. He stops.
“Bobby?” His voice is low. Leading.
You sigh and shake your head.
“I was just about to go meet some
of the fans, Rikki. I’ll catch up with
you in a bit.” You idly hope he
believes your lies.
“No, you won’t. You’ll come with me. Now.”
You look at him in surprise but he says nothing more. Just walks back inside. And suddenly you have no other choice but to
follow him. The darkness of his eyes
makes that clear. You follow him into
his dressing room and once inside you find yourself being shoved against the
wall, your head hitting the hard concrete harshly.
“Jesus,” you groan. “What the fuck is your…” His hand covers
your mouth and nose and you inhale sharply.
You want to flinch but don’t.
His intentions are clear to you now as you feel his hardness press
against your thigh while he holds you up to the wall. Talking is not what he wants to do. Part of you is excited.
Another part is terrified.
Terrified that he expects this of you again. Terrified that this might mean that he likes it. Terrified that you like it yourself. Letting your wife do this shit to you was
one thing. But with Rikki it is
entirely different. And you’re honestly
not certain if the difference is good or bad.
With his hand still over your
mouth, he sneers. “Don’t ever fucking
try to make me wait again.
Understand?” You nod mutely. He chuckles. “You’ve been avoiding me, Bobby.
Why?” The tone of his voice
gives you chills. He removes his hand
but still holds you firmly in place.
“I haven’t been avoiding…”
“Don’t lie to me,” he warns, his
right hand wrapping tightly around your bicep until you feel like his fingers
are boring into the very flesh of your body.
You wince but force yourself to take the pain.
“I didn’t think you would want to
talk to me,” you say slowly, evenly, unable to meet his penetrating gaze. “And besides, you’ve been busy with
Bret.” He hits you before you even have
the time to comprehend what he’s doing.
You raise your fist to retaliate but quickly let it drop back down to
your side. Fighting him will only make
this worse.
“Have you talked to Bret?” he
growls. “I told you not to say anything
to anyone. Did you defy me?”
You immediately shake your head
no. It only intensifies the pounding
underneath your left eye. “I haven’t
said anything. All I meant is that I
can tell you and Bret are…”
“What happens with Bret and I is
none of your business,” he says, more angry than you ever would have expected
him to be. “You stay out of it. Am I making myself clear?” Again you nod silently. “Good.
Now, I think there is something that you and I need to discuss.”
“Really?” you manage to question,
swallowing in spite of the dryness of your mouth. “What’s that?”
“How about the fact that I know
you want me to fuck you?”
Your breath catches in your throat
as you look at him with wide eyes. Not
because you’re shocked or offended.
Because it’s the truth and you have no idea how he’s figured it
out. You hadn’t thought it was all that
obvious.
His lip curls up on one side. “I’ll take your silence to mean that I’m
right.” He brings his hand up and
softly strokes the side of your face.
“Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. What will
people think? The bass guitar player
with a wife and two kids who thinks it’s cool that Bret fucked Pam turns out to
be a fag. How shocking.” His words mock you. But they do more than that. They hurt.
And you know the pain is visible on your face. The last thing he needed to do was bring your kids into
this. “Don’t look so upset,” he
continues, moving closer to your face.
His tongue flicks out and trails a wet line from your ear to your
neck. “If you keep your mouth shut, no
one ever has to know.”
You can’t stop the single tear
from rolling down your cheek. You feel
like nothing. Like less than
nothing. And all because of the words
that this man, your so-called friend, has just said to you. You hate yourself for crying. You hate yourself even more for being so
visibly aroused. Inhaling shakily, you
dare to meet his gaze. “So fuck me
already,” you tell him, your voice cracking.
“Do what you want. You know I
won’t stop you.”
For a moment Rikki seems taken
aback by your brazen statement, but he quickly recovers. “Don’t fuck with me,” he warns. “I’ll do what I want, when I want. You really have no say in this at all.”
Right then you don’t care if you
have a say in anything or not. All you
know is that you’re hard. And Rikki is
hard. And fuck if he hasn’t made you
want him even more than when you first came in the damn room. You’re ready and willing to do whatever it
takes. Reputations be damned. It doesn’t even matter anymore. You lower your eyes and slip into the
subservient role you know he’s expecting.
“Tell me what to do.”
Rikki steps away from you then and
for the first time you can inch away from the concrete wall that’s been cutting
into your back. “Suck me.” Without hesitation you drop to your knees,
fully aware of how much it hurts when you land on the hard tile floor. But pain is just another part of this
game. Your hands find the button on his
jeans and you unfasten it, pulling the zipper down as well. And then his cock is there, right in front
of you, and you’re not sure that you can do this. Last time you were drunk.
Last time he was nowhere near your mouth. And last time you couldn’t see how fucking big he is. You’ve never done this before. You don’t even know that you’ll be good at
it. Scenarios of accidentally biting
him or choking on him or any other mishap that could occur swirl in your
mind. You try not to think about what
he will do to you if you mess this up.
Trying to calm yourself you take
him in your hand and stroke him slowly, tentatively, like you would if you were
doing this to yourself. He doesn’t
offer any criticism so you figure you must be doing all right. You eventually find the nerve to take him
into your mouth, eyes closed, trying not to think about it. When his fingers fist in your hair you
realize that you don’t need to think, anyway.
He’s not going to let you take control here. He just needs your mouth.
The rest he can do on his own.
You relax your throat muscles the
best that you can as his hips begin to pump erratically. You gag around him but he doesn’t seem to
notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t
care. Either way, he doesn’t stop. Not that you ever expected him to. You force your mind elsewhere because
suddenly you’re feeling sorry for all of the groupies you’ve done this to and
that’s a train of thought you’d like to stay away from. Especially now.
You taste the salty liquid in your
mouth before Rikki ever gives you a warning.
He says nothing, in fact. Not
even the slightest satisfied groan. And
you find yourself struggling to swallow.
But that’s taken care of when he pulls out of your mouth and finishes
shooting off on your face. When his
come hits your cheek, your chin, you aren’t sure you could feel like any less
of a man. But you kneel there and take
it because, really, what else can you do?
“Stand up,” he tells you as soon
as he’s done. And you do it obediently,
too consumed by self-hate and your infatuation to challenge him. He wipes the sticky remnants from your face
with one finger and smiles. “This looks
good on you,” he ridicules, smearing it across your lips. You slowly snake out your tongue and lick it
away.
He pulls you to him roughly and
kisses you then, taking your breath away.
He tears at the front of your shirt as your hands try to steady yourself
by resting on his hips. You feel the
fabric rip easily under his strength.
“Rikki,” you mumble into his mouth, pushing yourself against him. “Rikki, please.” He tears your shirt the rest of the way and brushes it to the
floor. You think somewhere in the back
of your mind that your son gave you that shirt for Christmas. You don’t care.
“Please what, lover?” His nails rake down your chest, leaving
small lines of blood in their wake.
You’re only slightly surprised to find yourself hardening even more at
the pain he causes. You see how
frighteningly easy it could be to get used to this. You also see how much better he is at this game than your ex-wife
ever was.
You bury your face in his neck,
tongue kissing the soft skin there as you do so. “Please fuck me,” you beg him, having no shame. You need this. You need this now.
He spins you around suddenly and
pushes you away from him. You stumble
but catch yourself, seeing where it is that he wants you to go. A vanity, with lighted mirror and all, sets
against the far wall of the room. You
walk towards it without being told to.
A glance in the mirror shows that Rikki is following with a smile on his
face. You reach the vanity and, resting
your elbows on the counter-like portion of it, you lean over. Rikki’s hands snake up from behind you and
undo the fly on your leather pants. He
easily pushes them down to your ankles but doesn’t bother to take them off
fully. You’re completely vulnerable to
him now. And you can’t imagine wanting
it any other way.
You feel Rikki’s hands on your ass
as he pushes your legs further apart with his knee. And then he is inside of you.
All the way inside of you. And
you’re screaming because fuck, this hurts.
It hurts like nothing you’ve ever felt before. One of his hands reaches up to cover your mouth and without
weighing the consequences you bite down.
You taste his blood on your tongue and immediately know that you’ve made
a mistake. He is completely still as
you venture to look up at him in the mirror.
His eyes are dark, wide, frightening.
“You little bitch,” he grinds out, pulling his hand away from you and
looking at it in surprise. With that
same hand he grabs the back of your head and slams you, face first, into the
countertop. Your world spins. You’re certain you see stars. And then he’s fucking you but all you can
concentrate on is the blood pouring from your mouth and nose onto the counter
below you.
Finding your voice you manage out
a weak, “stop.” It’s not that you want
him to stop fucking you, really. It’s
more that you’re afraid you’re going to vomit from all of that blood. And you think he probably won’t like it if
that happens. You wonder if your nose
is broken. Or if maybe you’ve lost a
few teeth. A quick check with your
tongue makes you realize you haven’t.
But still, how are you going to explain this? Your reflection is disturbing to say the least. Yet, somehow, you’re still hard. And you can’t help but notice that the pain
Rikki is inflicting upon you is slowly melting into pleasure.
Again you feel Rikki’s hand on the
back of your head, pulling your gaze up so you’re looking at his reflection in
the mirror. He looks purely
animalistic. “You fucking like this?”
he growls, slamming into you over and over.
“Huh? Answer me, Bobby. Do you fucking like being my bitch?”
You want to tell him no. You know that should be your answer. It’s the only logical thing to say. Why would anyone in their right mind like
what he’s doing to you? But you can’t
say it. The word just won’t leave your
mouth. In spite of the pain, in spite
of the humiliation, in spite of the bruises and scars you know you’ll have you
whimper a soft, “yes.”
“Fucking slut,” Rikki laughs. And then he’s pushing your face back into
the counter. It doesn’t hurt this time,
but having your face rubbed in your own blood is still not the most enjoyable
sensation. You should be fighting back,
you think. Domination doesn’t have to
be this violent. But something stops
you. An abrupt shot of realization hits
you out of nowhere. There’s only one
thing stopping you from pushing Rikki away and ripping him in two. You could do it. You’re stronger than he is.
But you love him. You actually
fucking love him. And that might be scarier
than anything else that is going on.
Because how in the world can you love him? A man? One of your best
friends?
Before you get the chance to think
about it any further Rikki’s hand is on your cock. He’s stroking you roughly.
Telling, no, commanding you to come.
And it doesn’t take long. His
touch, no matter how painful, has this fucked up ability to send you over the
edge with relatively little effort. You
cry out his name as you orgasm and you feel him spiraling out of control right
along with you.
He pulls out almost immediately,
leaving you gripping the edge of the vanity to stay upright. Your breath comes in short gasps as you try
to steady yourself. You randomly look
down and see blood on your cock. You
know it’s from Rikki’s hand but it’s still an unsettling sight. And then he’s beside you, zipping up his
jeans. With a finger he traces a line
of drying blood from the corner of your mouth down the side of your neck.
“You’re mine now,” he tells you
noncommittally. Almost like he couldn’t
care less if it were the truth or not.
“Don’t ever forget it.”
You watch from the mirror, still unable to catch your breath, as he walks away, leaving you alone in the room. A million thoughts run through your head. You should take a shower. Or at the very least clean up your face. You should get the fuck out of his dressing room before someone comes looking for him. Or before someone starts to wonder where you’ve gone. But the most you manage is to stand upright, pull up your pants, and then slide slowly to the ground as tears pour down your face. Rikki was right. You belong to him now. And you hate yourself for it. But you know, from that moment on, nothing will ever be the same. Because as much as you hate yourself, you love him. And that love is stronger than any other emotion you could ever feel. It makes the hurt and the pain okay. But more importantly, it makes you want to be his.