Ceo Rockstar
Copyright© 2026 by Cory King
Chapter 5: Leather and Static
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5: Leather and Static - A tech CEO wakes up as a female rock star in 1999, navigating groupies, rival musicians, and raw new desires before her band’s breakthrough.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Reluctant Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Isekai Time Travel Body Swap Sharing Sister BDSM Group Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Facial Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Public Sex
The studio phone rang at ten in the morning, that usually meant Richie or a wrong number.
Lex answered on the third ring, cradling the receiver against her shoulder while she finished tuning the low E, the bass sat warm against her hip.
“What.”
“Alexandra Voss.” British, unhurried. “You’re a difficult woman to reach.”
Kieran.
Her fingers stopped on the peg. The memory of the last session arrived without invitation: white backdrop, the dress shirt sliding off her shoulders, his mouth between her legs, the way he’d watched her afterward like a photograph still developing.
“Kieran. I thought you went back to London.”
“I did. Then your label called and asked for more shots. Cover art. Promo. ‘Choking on the Static’ is generating rather a lot of buzz, and they want a full visual package to match.” A pause. She could hear the smile. “I told them I’d only do it if you were amenable. Last time was memorable.”
Emily had been gone four days. The apartment felt quieter in a different way now, expectant rather than empty.
“What kind of shots?”
“Two setups. First is the album cover. They want something intimate. Bedroom atmosphere. Lingerie, though I suspect that’s more the label’s fantasy than a creative necessity.” Another pause. “The second is for the inside sleeve. Grittier. More texture. I have a wall in mind.”
“A wall.”
“In the studio. The control room, after hours tonight. Tommy’s agreed. The lighting is dreadful but the textures are extraordinary, vintage compressors, the analog board. Very rock and roll.”
“And the wall?”
“The wall is for later. After the lingerie shots. After we’ve gotten the label’s cover art in the can.” His voice dropped. “Consider it a creative collaboration. You’ve been recording all week. I suspect you have some tension to work out.”
Her body answered before she did. A slow heat low in her belly. She hadn’t been touched since Portland.
“What time?”
“Noon. The loft I rented is in Williamsburg. I’ll send a car.” He gave her the address. “Wear something you can take off. Or don’t wear anything at all. I’m not fussed.”
The line went dead.
Lex stood with the receiver still against her ear. Noon. Three hours. The blue polish on her nails had grown out at the edges. She’d need to fix that before the shoot.
The loft sat on the fifth floor of a converted factory on the Williamsburg waterfront. Floor-to-ceiling windows faced the East River. February light came through white and diffused. Polished concrete, exposed brick, a few pieces of furniture chosen more for how they photographed than for comfort.
Kieran was adjusting a soft-box when she arrived. He didn’t turn around.
“You’re early.”
“You said noon.”
“I said noon because I assumed you’d be late. Most musicians are.” He straightened and looked at her leather jacket, black jeans, Docs. “You’re different than last time.”
“Different how?”
“More present. Last month you were performing for the camera. Now you’re just there. It’s disconcerting. I’m used to women hiding from me. You seem to have stopped.”
She had no answer that wouldn’t require explaining too much.
He gestured toward a screen in the corner. “Dressing area. Your label sent options. I sourced a few of my own. You’ll find both.”
Behind the screen the label’s choices were predictable: black lace, satin, straps and hooks. She pushed them aside.
Kieran’s selections were different. A champagne silk slip cut on the bias. A black bralette and high-waisted briefs dotted with tiny silver stars. A nearly sheer dark mesh piece with strategic panels.
She chose the slip.
The silk was cool. She kept her own black lace underneath and stepped out barefoot.
Kieran waited by the window. He’d set up a bed, iron frame, white sheets and positioned the soft-box to wash the pillows in diffused light.
“Ah. The champagne. I was hoping you’d pick that one.”
“Why?”
“Least revealing, most suggestive. The label wanted lingerie. I want something that looks like you just woke up and couldn’t be bothered to get dressed.” He pointed. “Lie down. On your stomach. Face toward the window.”
She did. The sheets were crisp. The slip rode up her thighs. Outside, the river looked like old pewter.
The shutter clicked.
“Good. Look at the camera. No. Through it. Like you’re looking at someone on the other side. Someone you want.”
She found his eyes through the viewfinder. The same gaze that had watched her come apart weeks ago.
Click.
“Lift your chin. Remarkable bone structure. Your father’s, I assume.”
“My father’s.”
“The one you flew to Portland to find. Word travels fast.” Click. “Roll onto your side. Slip off one shoulder. Yes.”
The silk slid down her arm. Cool air touched bare skin. Her nipple tightened against the fabric.
“Was he, what you expected?”
“That’s a personal question for a photo shoot.”
“I’m a personal photographer. The photos work better when I understand the subject.” Click. “Was he?”
She thought of Daniel in the music school, the stained-glass light, the way he’d cried when he saw her eyes.
“He was more,” she said. “And less. He was a person. Not a fairy tale.”
“Aren’t we all.” Click. “On your back. Arms above your head. One knee bent.”
The slip rode higher. The black lace underneath showed as a dark shadow. Kieran moved closer.
“Tell me about the new album.”
“What about it?”
“Your publicist sent the press kit. The songs are darker. More personal. ‘Choking on the Static’ is about disconnection, isn’t it? Reaching out and finding no one on the other end.”
“It’s about phone calls that don’t get answered.”
“Who wasn’t answering?”
Click. Click.
“My mother. My father. Everyone I tried to reach.” The words surprised her by being true—Lex’s truth, written into the songs before Viv ever arrived. “I spent years trying to connect with people who weren’t there. The album is about what happens when you stop trying.”
“And what does happen?”
“You start making music for yourself instead of for them.”
Kieran lowered the camera. For a moment he looked at her directly, not through the lens.
“That’s the shot,” he said quietly. “That expression. Whatever you were thinking just now.”
“I was thinking about my sister.”
“The one who flew in last week.”
“You really do hear everything.”
“I hear everything about you.” He set the camera on the bedside table. “Lingerie shoot is done. You can get dressed if you want. Or not. The second setup is at the studio in two hours.”
She didn’t move.
“I don’t want to get dressed.”
“Good. Neither do I.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped. His hand rested lightly on her ankle—thumb against bone, nothing demanding.
“Last time was about you,” he said. “Learning your body. Finding out what you liked.”
“And this time?”
“This time is about what I like.” His hand slid slowly up her calf. “If you’re amenable. I’m not interested in anything that isn’t enthusiastically consented to. You can say no. You can leave. But if you stay, I’m going to fuck you against that wall I mentioned. And I’m not going to be gentle.”
Her thighs pressed together. She could smell him—woody, vetiver.
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’m amenable.”
A flicker of a smile. “Good girl. Now take off the slip.”
She sat up, pulled the silk over her head, and tossed it aside. Black lace only. Kieran looked at her with a mixture of hunger and calculation.
“The bra too.”
She unhooked it. The lace fell away. Cool air tightened her nipples. He made a low sound in his throat.
“You have no idea what you look like,” he murmured. “None at all. It’s the most appealing thing about you.”
“I know exactly what I look like.”
“No. You don’t.” His mouth found the curve of her neck, just below the ear. “You know what cameras see. You don’t know what I see.”
His teeth grazed her skin—promise, not quite a bite. Her hands rose to his shoulders. He caught her wrists and pressed them back to the mattress.
“No. You don’t get to touch me yet. Hands above your head. Keep them there.”
She obeyed. The position arched her back. He kissed down her sternum with deliberate patience, skipping her nipples until the absence felt almost painful.
“Kieran.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re being cruel.”
“I’m being thorough.” His tongue flicked once against a nipple. “Was that what you wanted?”
“You know it was.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I want your mouth on me. Properly.”
He laughed, low. “Since you asked so nicely.”
Then he closed his mouth over her and sucked hard. The sensation shot through her. She gripped the iron frame above her head. He worked one breast and then the other until she was squirming, his hands planted on either side of her ribs—pinning without restraining. She could have moved. She stayed.
“Good,” he said, pulling back. “You’re doing very well. Now the underwear.”
She lifted her hips. He drew the lace down slowly. When she was bare he sat back on his heels and looked at her with a more predatory focus.
“Turn over.”
She turned. Cool sheets against her belly. Behind her he undressed—fabric, belt buckle, shoes hitting the floor.
His hand came down on the swell of her ass. Not hard. A test.
“Colour.”
“Green.”
“Good.”
Another slap, harder. Heat bloomed across her skin. She bit the pillow. His hand smoothed the place he’d struck, then drew back again.
“I’ve been thinking about this since the last shoot,” he said. “You were so responsive. But you were holding something back. You’re not holding anything back now, are you.”
She shook her head.
“Words, Lex.”
“No. I’m not holding anything back.”
“Good. Because I’m going to ask you for something, and I want an honest answer.” His hand stilled on her lower back. “Are you going to let me fuck you however I want?”
She looked at him over her shoulder. He was naked now, cock hard and dark against his belly.
“Yes.”
“Then get up. We’re moving to the wall.”
The wall, the would come later.
When she tried to get up he bent her over the foot of the bed and ate her from behind until her legs shook and the sheets were soaked. She came with a cry that echoed off concrete and brick and the windows facing the river. She turned and pushed him onto his back and took him into her mouth, learning the weight and taste of him, the way his breath changed when she used her tongue just so.
“Get dressed,” Kieran said as began getting dressed.
Lex dressed in just her slip and her leather jacket, Kieran wore his jeans and an untucked shirt then he drove them to the studio in a rented car that smelled of new leather and smoke.
The control room was dark. Tommy had powered everything down. Streetlight filtered through the grimy window in amber and shadow.
“This is the wall,” Kieran said, closing the door. “The textures are perfect. Compressors, patch bay, vintage EQ. Your label wants rock and roll. This is rock and roll.”
He didn’t turn on the lights. Didn’t set up a camera. He crossed the room and pressed her against the plaster between the equipment racks and kissed her hard. Tongue, hands in her hair, body pinning her with a weight that felt like a claim.
“I didn’t bring a camera,” she said against his mouth.
“Neither did I. The second setup was a pretext.” His hand found the hem of the slip and pushed it up. “I just wanted you here. In this room. Where you recorded the album. Against this wall.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to fuck you in the place where you became someone new.”
His fingers found her already wet. He made a sound of satisfaction and pressed two inside, curling upward until her vision narrowed.
“You’re so responsive. Most women take time. You’re ready before I’ve even started.”
“I’ve been ready since the phone call this morning.”
“Have you.” His thumb circled her clit. “You should have said something.”
“Turn around.”