"Yessss!" Mandy yelled. "Oh God! No one has ever... ohhhhh!"
Jake's face was between her legs, lapping away at her swollen clitoris while his fingers plunged in and out of her. Though she was a bit ripe from the exertions of the past few hours, he found the taste and smell very much to his liking. He became addicted to cunnilingus on that night.
This time the orgasm came for Mandy, and it came with a power and violence he had never suspected. Her hips bucked up and down like she was in seizure. Her legs tightened around his neck to the point he could barely breathe. She screamed so loudly he feared that someone in one of the expensive houses that surrounded the park might hear and call the cops.
And when it finally ended she pulled him atop her, her hands grabbing at his naked ass, squeezing it, pulling on it.
"Fuck me!" she demanded, her mouth kissing his lips, her tongue licking at the vaginal secretions there. "Oh God, fuck me hard. Fuck me now!"
He was desperate to do just what she demanded. His cock was once again throbbing and begging to be used for its most important purpose. But he was just cognizant enough of what was going on to hesitate. "What about... you know... uh... I mean... I don't want to get you... you know... pregnant. I don't have any rub..."
"I'm on the pill!" she told him. "Now do it. Fuck me, Jake. Fuck me hard!"
That was all the convincing he needed. This being his first time, he fumbled around for a few moments, trying to find the exact angle he needed. But his fumbling was brief. She was so wet from his oral ministrations and her orgasm that once the head of his penis found the channel he slid right in with one smooth stroke.
"Oh, God yesssss!" she moaned as she felt it.
For his part, he was back to mumbled verbalizations. The feel of her tightness around him was even better than her mouth had been. This was nirvana. He began to thrust in and out of her, his butt rising and falling, a wet, squishing sound coming from the junction of their bodies with each stroke-a sound that disturbingly resembled that of macaroni and cheese being vigorously stirred prior to being served. It went on for five minutes, then ten, his orgasm kept at bay by the earlier one he'd had in her mouth. For the most part, Mandy just laid there beneath him, panting, kissing his mouth and his neck, her hands stroking his back, his ass, his face. She had nothing that resembled an orgasm, didn't seem to be anywhere near one. This was disturbing to him. He wanted to please her as much as she was pleasing him. He did not want to leave her high and dry.
And then she whispered the words in his ear. It was the first time he heard this in such circumstances. It would not be the last.
"Sing to me," she panted.
"Huh?" he panted back, sweat dripping from his face and onto hers.
"Sing to me again," she told him. "Look me in the eyes and sing! Do Dust in the Wind!"
This struck him as more than a little strange. Singing during sex? What kind of strange-ass shit was this? But the world was more than a little strange, wasn't it? It wasn't like she was asking him to choke her or pee on her or something like that. He focused his eyes on hers and began to sing.
"I close my eyes, only for a moment and the moment's gone,"
"Oh God," she panted, her fingers tightening on his back.
"All my dreams, pass before my eyes a curiosity."
"Yesss, Yesss!" Her hips were now thrusting upwards, meeting his every stroke.
"Dust in the wind. All they are is dust in the wind."
She clenched at him harder. By the time he made it to the part about how nothing lasted forever but the earth and sky, she was screaming again, her fingernails raking into his bare back, her pelvis battering into his. She came and came hard, violently in fact. Never in his life would he be fooled by a fake orgasm after this.
Her orgasm triggered his own. He poured himself out into her body.
Chuck O'Donnell came back three minutes before they were to go on. His smile was now so wide it looked a bit maniacal. Apparently he had dipped deeper into his cocaine supply. He put one meaty arm around Matt's shoulder, the other meaty arm around Jake's, hugging them against him like a wise old father. "How you doing, guys?" he asked. "You ready to go out there and rock?"
"Fuckin-A," Matt told him, nodding calmly, taking a drag off his latest cigarette.
"Bet your ass," Jake responded, with more confidence than he felt.
The other band members chimed in with similar epitaphs, each making a point to include at least one profane word.
"Good, good," O'Donnell said, hugging the two front men just a little tighter for a moment before finally releasing them. He turned to Jake. "Now all I have to do to introduce you guys is turn on your main microphone amp, right?"
"Right," Jake said. "The mic itself will be hot once the amp comes on." He swallowed nervously, wondering if he should really mention this-it might offend O'Donnell-or just trust him to know. Finally he decided to take no chances. "And... uh... if you could be careful to not touch any of the volume or tone knobs on the amp..."
O'Donnell gave him a look that was half amusement, half-irritation. "Son, I've been in this business since before you were even a protein molecule in your daddy's nut sack waiting to get made into a cumshot. I'm not gonna touch your settings or adjust your microphone stands or bump your guitars or kick loose one of your cables. Trust me."
"Sorry," Jake mumbled. "It's just that..."
"No need to be sorry," O'Donnell told him. "You were just making sure I didn't fuck up your sound check. I won't. Now then, as soon as I'm done introducing you, you guys walk out-walk, don't run unless you want to trip over your own cables or overbalance and fall on your face in the front row-pick up your instruments, turn on your amps, and start playing. Keep the between-song bullshit to a minimum. These people came to hear music, not to listen to you run your mouth. And if you do talk between songs, no political shit." He looked sharply at Jake as he said this. "Its okay to put your politics in your music, but don't preach to these people. They don't wanna fuckin' hear it, and I don't want to lose customers because someone was offended by your anti-nuclear bullshit or something like that. Understand?"
"Yeah," Jake said with a nod. "I understand." In fact they had rehearsed very little between song banter into the act, nothing more than the usual "How you doing tonight?" and "Everyone having a good time?"
"Good," O'Donnell said. "That's what I want to hear. And I'm sorry Michaels and Hathaway gave you boys such a bad time. People get a little famous and they let it go to their heads. But do mind what they said. Forty-five minutes is your set and you have fifteen minutes to get your shit off the stage after that."
"Unless there are encore requests," Matt said.
O'Donnell chuckled. "Of course. Unless there are encore requests." He checked his watch. "I got one minute to seven. About time to get this show rolling. You boys ready?"
They agreed they were ready.
"Then lets do it. Give these people a hell of a show."
With that, he walked out onto the stage. The crowd was mostly sitting at tables or gathered around the bar. A few people were wandering from place to place. Most were veterans of the club scene and knew that O'Donnell's appearance on the stage meant the show was about to start. The babble of conversation grew quieter.
He walked over to Jake's microphone amp, examined it for about two seconds, and flipped on the main power switch. There was a slight pop from the amp as it came to life. He then walked over to the microphone itself. He did not tap it, knowing that to do so would potentially knock it out of alignment. Being almost six inches shorter than Jake's six-two, he had to stand on his toes to get his mouth close enough.
"Good evening," he said, his voice booming through the room, "and welcome to the Friday night live performance here at D Street West."