Chapter 2: Desperado

The night air was surprisingly cool for late August, with a slight but persistent breeze adding to the chill. The usual late-summer chorus of crickets provided the background accompaniment as I strolled briskly up the long, winding walkway, toward my front door. Shannon was pressed up against my side, with my arm around her, more as a means of keeping her warm than an act of foreplay. I could feel her shivering against me. As we approached the door, a motion sensor triggered a spotlight I'd rigged up, illuminating much of the front of the property. Even though I wasn't Howard Hughes, I was well off enough to be paranoid about home security.

As we stepped inside, the warm, windless interior of my home providing a welcome respite, Shannon spoke up. "So, what's the problem with Inez, anyhow?"

"I have no idea. Jasmine said she's had a tough life. But if you ask me, she seems to be on an all-out campaign for Bitch of the Year," I snickered.

This elicited a giggle from Shannon. I poured us both a glass of wine. I watched out of the corner of my eye as she gave my place the usual cursory scan. I noticed how her gaze lingered for a second on the expensive painting, hanging conspicuously on the wall. I saw how she longingly beheld my state-of-the-art home entertainment center. And I took note of how she affectionately ran her hand across the plush oriental sofa, caressing it the way she'd be caressing my nether regions before too much longer. Oh, don't get me wrong, I knew Shannon was no thief. But as I got to know her better, I became more and more convinced that she was drawn more to my money than to me.

A few days earlier, I'd bounced this idea off of Dave. His response, while not exactly astute, was nonetheless memorable. "Who cares if she's a gold-digger? She is one hot piece. Personally, I'd eat a mile of her shit, just so I could lick her asshole."

Dave always did have a way with words.

Shannon was, shall we say, frisky by nature, even without the introduction of the wine variable into the equation. Before I knew it, her glass was empty, and she had one hand up my shirt, with the other hand in the process of unbuttoning it from the outside. In a flash, the shirt was off, and seconds later, she'd dragged me out of my pants as well. There I was, on the sofa, in nothing but my briefs. I knew then and there that we wouldn't be bothering to head upstairs. I looked at the windows; the shades were drawn, but anyone positioned directly outside could easily peer around them. And they'd be able to witness quite a show. Oh, well.

"Mmm ... Mr. Rock Star," she purred, kissing my chest, her long, dark hair brushing against my bare torso. "Can I be your groupie?"

Who was I to deny her that fantasy? I reached out to pull her to me, but she had other plans. She slipped away from my grasp, standing before me, regarding me with her azure eyes afire.

I watched in fascination, my arousal rapidly increasing, as she lifted her top up and over her head, tossing it aside to reveal a bra-encased set of orbs. I'd seen them before in all their glory, of course. I'd run my hands all over them, several times, and tasted them to my heart's content. But it was apparent that she'd cooked up some kind of scenario this time, and it had my libido in overdrive like never before. I still had my briefs on, but I felt as though my erection would drill a hole through them.

Shannon favored me with another searing glance as she stepped out of her high heels, and then smoothly lowered the zipper on the side of her pants. A quick shimmy of her hips, and those slacks were in a puddle at her feet. She unhooked her bra, and threw it aside as well, fully exposing her firm, round, creamy breasts.

"I want you to make me your groupie," she repeated, her voice a low growl. "Play my body with your fingers, the way you do that keyboard. Take me, like I'm some floozy who flashed her tits at you from the audience."

She then ditched her panties, and stood before me in magnificent nudity, I didn't get much of a chance to ogle her in the raw, however, for she had one more preparatory step in mind. Smiling at me devilishly, she stepped back into her high heels. We'd discussed my heel fetish on more than one occasion. And few women could wear heels like Shannon, for her long, firm, toned legs were her best feature.

I wanted to draw things out a little more, so I laid down flat on the sofa, my back facing upward. With my rampant erection pressing into the fabric, this was quite uncomfortable; but I wanted a massage from Shannon at this point, and past experience told me she wouldn't disappoint.

She took the cue and straddled me, pressing her soft fingers into my exhausted flesh. Every so often, she would lean over and whisper into my ear, telling me how much musicians turned her on, and how she'd always dreamed of having her pussy ravished by a rock star. I, of course, just lay there, for now, and took it all in.

Suddenly, I felt the back of my briefs being lowered slightly. I was momentarily startled as I felt the soft moistness of her tongue making intimate contact with the top of my butt crack. From that starting point, she proceeded to run her tongue tantalizingly over my tail bone, straight up the center of my spine and between my shoulder blades. She continued her journey upward, reaching the middle of the back of my neck, before veering off to the right, encircling my ear once with that talented tongue of hers, and darting it fleetingly inside my ear canal. She tugged at my shoulder, indicating that I should flip over.

The instant I rolled over onto my back, she hooked her two index fingers under the waistband of my briefs and did away with that undergarment. My cock, free at last, pointed skyward while her face hovered inches above it. She knelt at the side of the sofa, right before my crotch, and wrapped her thumb and index finger around the base of my cock, and began a slow, repetitive up and down motion. It was all I could do to keep from erupting prematurely.

"Mmm," she purred contentedly. "I like this one. Could I make a plaster cast of it, Mr. Rock Star, to add to my collection?" As distracted and turned on as I was, I was still able to find humor in that remark, and broke out laughing.

But before I could get carried away with laughter, Shannon proceeded to reclaim my full undivided attention. She lowered her face down onto my cock, and just slurped it up like water from a drinking fountain. "Ahhh!" I moaned as she took the entire length through her mouth and into her throat, all in one smooth movement. As she began to enthusiastically deep-throat me, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Moments later, I painted her tonsils with my love juice.

Shannon moved to straddle my head, strongly hinting that she'd like for me to return the favor. Her light brown trimmed bush hung there, just inches from my face, as I moved upward and traced the line between her labia with my tongue. As I picked up the pace, she lowered herself fully onto my mouth, grinding herself into my face. I gave up the licking part, letting her do all the work, something she was quite okay with. When I deemed it the right time, I brought my tongue back into the action, finding her clit and making a quick pass directly across it. This set her off like a firecracker. "Oh Pat!! Ohpatohpatohpatohpatohpatohpatohpatohpat!!!" she wailed as she came, her juices running down onto me, wetting my cheeks and my chin. When she came back down to earth, she resumed her all-out quest to turn my face into a glazed doughnut, and got off twice more in short order.

By now, my penis was once again rock-hard and ready to get involved once again. Shannon, taking note of this, moved back down toward my crotch, squatted over my erection, and lowered herself down onto it. She'd told me she was on birth control pills, so there were no concerns there. But I pinned her legs with both hands, preventing any movement on her part. She looked at me quizzically.

I realized that up till now, I'd taken far too passive a role in the proceedings. Earlier, she'd demanded that I take her. And so, I took.

I pulled myself up into a sitting position, facing her directly. In response, she pressed her mouth against mine, trying to force her tongue into my mouth. I blocked its entry, instead wrapping my arms around her. I slid both of us off the couch, and then stood up. "Ooooh," she cooed, in surprise, wrapping her legs around my torso, my cock still buried within her. "What are you planning to do to me?" she wondered.

I didn't respond verbally. I squatted down, still supporting all her weight, and then pitched forward, basically falling right on top of her. As we hit the floor, the force caused my cock to bottom out within her. "Oooooh!" she purred. I pulled out part way, and then re-entered her, realizing I'd lucked into the perfect angle for deepest penetration. With her two legs pointed diagonally skyward, one high-heeled shoe resting on top of each foot, she squealed her approval as I began to fuck her in earnest. Since I'd come earlier, I was able to pound into her for a good long while. Finally, I shot my seed deep inside her, and we both collapsed, physically wiped out.

Shannon was the first to pull herself up from the floor; she traipsed off toward the bathroom. I quickly inspected the sofa; surprisingly enough, there were no moist areas to be found. I was glad for that, since it had cost me a pretty penny. There was, however, a good-sized wet, sticky spot on the carpet, right where we'd had our final coupling. "I'll have to break out that new steam cleaner," I muttered as I grabbed a paper towel and wiped up as much of it as I could.

I had trouble sleeping that night; there, in my own bed, Shannon still naked in my arms, asleep like a baby, her head resting on my shoulder. Was it guilt that was keeping me awake? I didn't know. Yes, I liked Shannon, even felt a certain affection for her. But the fact was, even though we'd been seeing each other for a few months, I hardly knew her. The relationship was entirely physical, there was no connection on any other level, and I simply couldn't envision it ever evolving into something more. In fact, finding "something more" was not one of my higher priorities. I knew that sooner or later, Shannon would have to look elsewhere for her sugar daddy.

But until then ... hey, the sex was pretty damn good.

We showered together in the morning, washing each other's delicate areas. Shannon knelt down before me, once again, and sucked me to completion. This time, I didn't bother to reciprocate, and Shannon didn't seem to mind.

Out in the kitchen, I cooked up some eggs, bacon and toast. We had a leisurely and somewhat quiet breakfast, and then Shannon was off to work, leaving me with a quick peck on the lips. I was out the door myself about a half hour later, wondering if Paul, Dave, Evie and myself were up to the task of spending a full day collaborating with Inez Trujillo.

We'd decided to have our Friday practice at the residence of Paul and Jasmine. Upon my arrival, Paul greeted me with a grin. "We've cleared out most of the garage for today's get-together," he told me. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

It certainly did provide a jog to the old memory bank. Back during our senior year in high school, Paul, Dave and I used to jam together in the garage of Dave's childhood home. I followed Paul out into his garage. Evie was already there, as was Inez. And once again, any sentimental thoughts I may have had about the venue were quickly dispelled by the prickly peevishness of Inez.

"About time you showed up," she grumbled. "Now where's that friend of yours? We need to get started."

"Let me see if I can get a hold of him. No matter the occasion, he's always a few minutes late." I pulled out my cell phone, and speed-dialed Dave. I was directed to his voice mail; he had his phone turned off. It figured.

Dave did indeed make it a point to show up fashionably late whenever possible. He loved attention, and he relished making his grand entrance when all were present to take note of his arrival. A few minutes later, he came strolling in. He had on one of those T-shirts that read, "Kill 'em all – let God sort 'em out", and sported a Phillies baseball cap. Despite being deep in the heart of the area dominated by fans of the New York sports teams, both Dave and I were products of South Jersey. And growing up in South Jersey meant rooting for Philadelphia teams. As for the T-shirt, Dave didn't necessarily ascribe to the inscription on front. He just couldn't pass up an opportunity to get a rise out of people.

"So which of you losers wants to help me bring in my drums?" he cracked.

"I might, if you ask politely," I shot back.

He replied by batting his eyelashes and blowing a kiss in my direction. "Oh, I forgot. You have Shannon." Paul and Evie, well used to our antics, cracked up. Inez just looked on impassively, fiddling around with her guitar.

I sprang to my feet and walked with Dave out to his van. We unloaded the drums, and I happened to notice a six-pack of beer on the floor of the van, filled with empty bottles. Not a good sign, I said to myself.

Back inside, it only took us a few run-throughs to get "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree" down cold, to the point where even Inez couldn't find anything negative to say. But the rest of the day turned out to be a never-ending exercise in frustration. I'd been expecting a nice, easy, informal practice session, full of reminiscing and pleasant conversation. But I'd failed to take into consideration the presence of Inez, who in addition to being a truly miserable person, took this whole thing far too seriously. By the end of the day, I never wanted to hear "Foolish Games" again. I hated that song. I wasn't harboring too many fond thoughts for Inez, either. And I came within a whisker of blowing a gasket because of it.

The fixation that Inez displayed for that particular piece of music was bizarre. I guess she considered it her own personal mantra, for she insisted that the song be treated with, for lack of a better word, reverence. And the one who bore the brunt of all that was, sadly, Evie.

None of us disputed that Inez, with her amazing vocal gift, was the one to handle lead vocals on that number. The problem came when Inez demanded that Evie sing high harmony during the chorus. Now, Evie was a very good singer, and the chorus in that song is only a couple of lines, but her vocal strength was her smoky contralto. And she was being asked to hit notes that were too high for her comfort range. In the old days, when she was two decades younger and sang regularly, she might have been able to handle it. But she was out of practice, and it was like trying to draw water from a dry well. It just wasn't happening.

Chapter 3 »