You are currently browsing the daily archive for December 29, 2011.
“I know things.”
“Really? What things do you know?”
“Just … things…”
As he sat in her living room, confidence oozed from his every pore. She could almost see it staining the carpet in her new apartment. He widened his knees and slouched back on the sofa, the smirk on his face giving his dimples shadows that didn’t belong.
“What things do you know?” She repeated the question, pulling the red plate across the counter, bringing fresh baked chocolate chip cookies within reach. Taking a bite, she forced herself to wait for an answer, figuring the chewing of the cookie would help to keep her impatient mouth closed.
“Well, I know your birthday is August 19th.”
Surprise widened her eyes and her jaw dropped. Half chewed cookie pieces saw their chance to escape and took a free fall onto the counter-top. “Damn!” She blurted, palms landing heavily on the fugitive crumbs. “You DO know things! How do you know that? Someone had to tell you!”
Laughter rambled across the room like a herd of ponies across the desert sand. Soft and dusty. “I’ve done my research. I also know that you like Batman and Santa Claus. I’m a little jealous.”
Her mind raced. “I see you found my Twitter account.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes as he leisurely pushed himself forward, leaning elbows on his knees. The perfect rock star pose.
“Since you’ve been on my Twitter timeline, I suppose you also know that I write erotica.” It was her turn to take control of the conversation. No one, she didn’t care who, was going to throw her a curve ball with their perceived secret knowledge. She was the one who held the cards. Period.
“Yep. And I followed your link.”
“Is that right? Did you find anything interesting?”
“Several things, actually.” He stood up and circled around behind her.
Gasping at the suddenness of his forearm across her throat, she felt her pussy clench. God, she was an animal, wasn’t she? Raw lust and power, that’s what turned her on. “Billy…”
“That’s right, my little groupie. You wrote stories about us, didn’t you? The first time we met in New York City at the Limelight. And then again, when I hid in your closet for your birthday bondage surprise. Did you think I forgot about that? How do you think I know when your birthday is? Huh? You’re sharing our secrets for the whole world to read, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Uh, I mean … no.”
“Ha! You know what? I kind of like it,” he said, releasing her neck and walking back to sit on the sofa. “Especially the one you wrote about masturbating to my songs on the radio. Very cool. Very cool, indeed,” he chuckled.
Wanting to feel his body against hers again, she followed him into the living room, straddled his lap and leaned in for a kiss. His hands snaked around her ass and pulled hard, fingers digging flesh.
“You’re my biggest fan, aren’t you? Isn’t that what you wrote?” Pushing his groin up, he bucked her forward until her breasts were pressed into his face. “Fucking sexy little groupie. Hot, voluptuous, horny little thing. Come here, groupie. Fuck me with that tight pussy. Show me how big of a fan you are.”
Unzipping his jeans, Billy Idol’s cock jumped from its restraint like a race horse coming out of the gates. The veins throbbed, the skin pulsed. Sticky need shone like a spotlight on stage. Perfect.
She lifted her skirt and he nearly tore her thong from her thighs. His hasty endeavor knocked her control off balance and put her on edge. Just the way he liked her.
Assaulting her cunt with quick thrusts from below, he thwarted her efforts of lowering herself slowly and running the show. Billy liked it hard and fast. Like his life. When you were with him, you played by his rules. It didn’t matter what cards you thought you held.
Muted groans amplified her lack of resistance and his lack of dating protocol when a knock came on her apartment door. “Billy? You almost ready? You gotta be on stage in 20 minutes.”
“Ya … I’m coming,” Billy panted hard. And he did.
Zipping his jeans as he strode to the door, Billy paused and turned. “Thanks, baby. See ya soon.”
Society’s rules of engagement don’t really apply to rock stars … do they?
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