Authors: Sara Frost
“Fuck me, fuck me,” she began to moan after a while. He said nothing but pulled her body further up the wall, bending his knees slightly so that he could do what she thought was impossible and enter her even more deeply. She cried out at this, her head pressed back against the ceramic tiles, her wet, black hair matted to the surface. Hot water splashed over her face and his back as he kissed her neck, her shoulders, biting her ears, until she desperately clasped her mouth to his again, her screams of pleasure muffled by his lips as he bucked harder and harder into her.
And now she could feel it again, the intense, vibrating pulsing of his cock as his seed began to rise inside him. “Oh God! Oh God!” she whimpered pathetically, her eyes wide and her fingernails digging into his back. It was as though she could feel every inch of him inside her, the walls of her pussy rippling in sympathy with the bulging movements of his cock as it began to spurt deep into her womb. Her face was a grimace, all sense lost as she cried out incoherently, losing herself in a flood of water, lust and orgasmic desire.
He had to hold her for a while after that, his cock still hard inside her at first as her entire body trembled, shaking against his. His strong hands held her up and she gripped him tightly with her legs, still wrapped around his buttocks and waist, a reflex action to the pulses that still shook her deep inside.
He kissed her again, more gently now, and she responded to him delicately. Her head felt incredible, as though she was utterly elated but could also fall apart at any moment. Slowly, softly, he brought her back to reality as his erection began to subside and slipped out of her, his arms supporting her in the shower until her strength was sufficient for her to support herself.
As he held her upright, kissing her along her wet neck which she curved towards his lips, she reached across for the soap and began to lather it along his cock which now dangled thickly between his thighs. At her touch it began to revive a little and she laughed at this.
“When did you get it pierced?” she asked, her own pussy quivering a little at the thought of how much pleasure his erection could give her.
“Oh, about three or four years ago, not long after I’d left uni. Some girl I was seeing at the time was into piercings and she suggested it.”
Dianne suddenly felt uncomfortable at this suggestion of another woman
—partly out of jealousy and also the realisation that, in contrast to the previous night, she hadn’t taken up any protection. Cam felt her body tense. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she lied, which made him frown.
“Come on. I know that’s not true. What’s the matter?”
“I just... I just better remember to take my pill,” she mumbled.
He stared at her in confusion for a moment, then his face cleared though it remained serious. “You don’t need to worry,” he told her. “You know, about anything else.”
She laughed, a little nervously. “How romantic I’m being. I really know how to spoil the mood.”
He shook his head at this and, taking the soap from her hands, began to lather it up so that he could softly apply the suds to her breasts. “It’s okay. It’s important. Despite appearances, I don’t go shagging anyone I meet—in fact, I haven’t been with someone else for a while now.”
She snorted at this, but he stared at her intently so that she couldn’t mock him
—especially as his hands were making slow circles around her breasts, massaging them so sweetly that she was opening up again.
“Why not?” she asked at last.
“Oh, you know,” he said. “The usual. Broken heart and all that.”
“Someone broke your heart?” Despite the sensation of his hands on her chest, she had to scoff at this. “I find that hard to believe.”
He shrugged, not stopping the gentle motion of his hands. “Suit yourself,” he replied with a smile. “But, if it makes you feel better, I gave blood last month, and I came up clean—so really, there’s no need to worry about that.”
She blushed at this and dipped her eyes away from his. Now she was utterly confused. Part of her was as horny as hell, wanting to grab him and have him take her again right there; another part of her was ashamed at the fact she was so transparent and easy to read; and finally, she felt the beginnings of jealousy at the thought of what kind of woman could break Cam Fraser’s heart.
She tried to push these and other thoughts to one side as they climbed from the shower, laughing as they dried each other off. In the main room, she began to pull clothes from her bag as Cam rummaged through a suitcase, popping back into the bathroom when he had found what he needed in order to shave.
He had also pulled on his jeans when he came back through and, while Dianne applied makeup she also found plenty of time to ogle that perfect V-shaped torso of his, with its toned pecs and six pack abdomen. She also liked the fact that his mouth fell open when he saw what she was wearing.
“Wow!” he said at last. “I like it—I like it a lot!”
“I’m glad,” she said. “It’s kind of girly and kick-ass at the same time.”
She was wearing stockings and a short skirt, as well as a bustier top that presented her cleavage to best effect as well as showing off the ink on her arm—but her calves were almost entirely clad in a huge pair of biker style boots, the solid, thick leather making the overall effect look somewhat kinky as well as assertive.
“You can kick my butt any day of the weak,” Cam gasped in appreciation, coming over to the side of the bed and picking up a clean T-shirt. Before he pulled it on, he bent over and kissed her appreciatively on the side of her neck. Then he paused.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing his stillness.
Without answering her, he came in front of her and crouched down. He was staring up at her face, his blue eyes glinting with some inner mischief.
“Open your legs,” he said, very quietly.
“Have we got time for that?” she asked, smirking but also frowning. “You’ve got less than an hour till your on stage.”
He raised an eyebrow but did not answer her question. “Open your legs,” he repeated, again his voice very low.
Feeling her abdomen tremble with excitement, Dianne did as she was told. To her surprise, Cam slid his hands along her stockinged legs to her knickers and began to roll them down her thighs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, suddenly bringing her legs together again. “We don’t have time for that!”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “And that’s not what I’m after.”
“What are you talking about?”
His grin broadened. “I want a lucky token, while I’m on stage.”
At first she tried to fumble with his hands but he refused to budge. Slowly, realising what he was asking, she looked at him in a jumble of emotions.
“You don’t know the effect it will have on me,” he said softly, “knowing you’re in the audience without any panties on. I promise you, if you do
this for me, I’ll give you the best performance you’ve ever seen in your life.”
“This skirt’s awfully short,” Dianne began to protest. “I’ll do it gladly in my jeans.”
Cam shook his head. “It has to be that skirt. Fuck! I’m getting a boner the length of my arm at the thought of it.” Although she could see there was some truth in that, Dianne began to protest again. “Go on,” he said, holding her with his gaze. “I dare you.”
That word again. She knew it was stupid, but there was something about Cam’s dares that affected Dianne deeply. Without saying a word, she lifted herself up from her seat ever so slightly, allowing him to continue to slide her knickers down. As he did so, her skirt flipped upwards, showing the trim line of pubes that reached to the top of her pussy.
When he had pulled her knickers free, he raised them to his lips to kiss them and stuffed them inside his jeans pockets. “Like I say,” he told her. “These will bring me luck.” At this, he then bent his head down and placed a kiss on her pubis, his lips pressing firmly into her warm flesh and making her groan.
As he raised his head back up to her, Dianne’s own eyes were looking at him with an intense gaze of lust. The fact that she knew she couldn’t have him again, right here and now, was frustrating enough to make her face blaze with desire, and Cam’s smile was wolfish as he stared at her.
“You look at me like that tonight,” he told her, “and I promise you I’ll give you a show like you’ve never seen before.”
By the time they arrived at
, the rest of Black Ark were already backstage and Tony came towards them with his hands reaching out in a pacifying manner.
“You might not want to go back there,” he told them with a grimace. “I think Darius has just realised what a shithole this joint actually is.”
Cam frowned at this and opened his mouth to say something, but Tony continued speaking without allowing any interruption. “Look, as we’re wallowing in this shite, our dear friend Darius-fucking-Optimus has just decided to produce plenty more of it—thus proving himself a true asshole. As part of his general assholery, he might be looking for some willing innocent target to crap on at a great height.”
As he spoke, Tony’s eyes moved from Cam’s face to Dianne’s several times
—and each time when their motion stopped at Dianne, he raised his eyebrows to almost comic effect. Dianne realised his point before Tony did.
“I can look after myself,” she said, for a second not entirely sure how true that was in these circumstances, these surroundings.
“I have no doubt of that,” Tony replied. “But as much as anything I’m concerned what Cam-act-first-and-think-later-Fraser might do.” He took a deep breath and stared directly at Dianne, realising she was probably his best hope of getting through his point. “While I may share some of Mr Johnson’s concerns about this particular venue, I for one don’t want to be kicked off the tour because of some misunderstanding.”
“Wait a minute,” Cam interrupted them. “Are you telling me that he might pick on Dianne here?”
“Bingo!” Tony said with heavy irony then sighed again. “You’ve never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, have you Cam—you big, daft lunk. I guess that must be what all the girls go for.”
“Who the fuck does he think he is?” Cam started to snarl. “I’ll bloody show him!”
“Wait!” Dianne’s voice was firm and much bolder than she had intended as she laid a hand on his chest. “Wait,” she repeated, more quietly. “It’s okay—really. This isn’t worth it. I can wait for you to go on stage and then meet up with you afterwards.”
“It’s not okay,” Cam said, not looking at her or Tony.
“Actually, you’re right,” Tony agreed with him. “It’s far from fucking okay, but for once I think that your beautiful and intelligent girlfriend here understands that discretion really is the better part of valour. There’ll be plenty of times to tell Gary Johnson what we truly think of him, but I for one would prefer to wait until we’re no longer depending on him to bankroll us.”
For a while Cam seethed in silence and, for this, Dianne wanted to kiss him with a tenderness that she had not really displayed towards him until then. At the same time, she didn’t want to do anything that would inflame him further. Instead, she lifted herself briefly onto her toes to plant a quick peck on his cheek
—her hands instinctively coming down to her skirt as it lifted itself up towards her buttocks for a moment.
Indeed, as she walked away from him towards the front of house, she was increasingly aware of her lack of underwear. Her hands kept dipping to her hips, pulling down the flimsy fabric of her skirt and she bent her head slightly, trying not to catch the attention of anyone nearby. What had seemed like a good idea less than an hour before now made her feel vulnerable in a way that she hadn’t experienced for a long time. At least her boots gave her a sense of stability: if anyone tried to make a move on her, she’d be able to get one good kick in
Inside the main part of
it was difficult to make out too many details—which was probably not a bad thing. The smell alone was fusty and dowdy, beer and (to Dianne’s surprise) stale cigarettes, and she had the sense that the place hadn’t been cleaned for a long time.
Despite this, the dance floor
—which wasn’t so small, if not impressively large—was beginning to fill up with punters getting ready for the evening’s entertainment. It occurred to Dianne that she had no real idea how Optima were received in France. She had recollections of a not particularly successful North American tour a couple of years previously, and realised that the dark, grunge and emo-inspired tunes of Darius Optimus were popular in Germany and a few other countries, but she didn’t know whether he was well-known here. The crowd was smaller than that which had gathered at NightWorld two nights previously, but not disastrously so.
Someone behind her shoved into her back and for a second Dianne nearly lost her balance, her hands clutching her skirt again as she looked back with a filthy expression. Some Gallic neanderthal was looking down at her, a leer on his face, and it was quite clear that his nudge had been anything but an accident. She had expected something more sophisticated in the capital city of romance, but then that was perhaps just a stereotype after all. He was tall and fairly broad, and his face with its mop of blond hair wasn’t bad looking at all
—just days previously she would have given him more than a passing glance. Nonetheless, the arrogant expression he wore indicated that he was firmly in the jerk camp.