Read The BBW and the Rock Star Online

Authors: Shameless Malloy

Tags: #bbw, #bbw erotic romance, #bbw story, #bbw erotic

The BBW and the Rock Star

BOOK: The BBW and the Rock Star
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The BBW and the Rock Star

 

Shameless Malloy

 

Copyright 2012 by Shameless Malloy

 

Smashwords Edition

 

 

He couldn't remember the
blonde's name as he stared down at her buttocks, each thrust of his
pelvis producing a small ripple across the flesh of her ass. He
thrust harder and nodded in satisfaction as she murmured with pain.
The blond, whatever her name was, didn't like it anally. It was
obvious from the way she grunted in pain and tried to squirm away.
She was only doing it because he was Stan Cherry, lead singer of
Slut Girl, and their record was currently at the top of the charts.
She was one of hundreds of groupies that his assistant, Candy,
sorted through each night after the show to find just the right one
that Stan would like.

Candy had impeccable taste in
women she though Stan would like, but she’d missed something with
the blond. She had a tattoo of a little butterfly across the small
of her back. He couldn’t help but laugh. He hated the so called
tramp stamps, and would have to remind Candy later to remember that
next time she picked him out a new toy. The little butterfly looked
stupid, he thought, and he wondered what it would look like when
the woman was in her sixties.


That tattoo is
fucking stupid,” Stan told her, thrusting harder and laughing when
she squirmed away in disgust. So fucking the great Stan Cherry
isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?


What?”


Your tattoo.
It’s fucking stupid. What would make a woman get a tattoo like that
there anyway?” he asked, never missing a beat and pushing as hard
as he could. He wondered how many times the girl had taken it in
the ass before. Did she give it up for her boyfriend after she
sucked his dick? The woman didn’t respond and with the next power
thrust screamed out in pain.

"You like that, don't you?" He
asked the woman and she shook her head furiously in agreement,
trying to hide the pain and discomfort she was obviously feeling.
He grinned even more.

"Yes Stan..." she groaned
through clenched teeth. "Fuck me harder."

He did, but it was as much a lie
as the woman saying she was enjoying it. Truth was, he was bored.
He'd worked so long and hard to get to where he was in life,
playing every dive club he could find, spending more time on the
road than not, and sacrificing his relationships with his family
and friends in the process, that he should be enjoying the rewards.
He finally had groupies. There were gorgeous women, like the blond,
who would part their legs for him at a whisper. He'd dated super
models and actresses, had extravagant homes and cars. He'd been a
bad boy in every way an up and coming rocker could be. He had it
all, the best of everything, and all his childhood dreams had
finally come true. He should be happy.

But he wasn't. He was bored.
Sure, he could make her take it in the ass and laugh at her
discomfort, maybe make fun of her stupid tramp stamp, but what was
in it for him? A few minutes of fun? The pleasure of seeing he
discomfort? He didn’t even know her name. He cared nothing for the
woman at all.

He pulled out of her with a
flourish and stepped off the bed, his head wobbly from all the
booze and drugs. The blond didn’t look all that attractive when he
looked back at her.

"Is everything okay, Stan?"

"Get out," he ordered.

"What?"

"Just get the fuck out," he told
her softly.


I don’t
understand.”


What’s your
name?” he asked, not even hinting at embarrassment over not knowing
it.


Sandra,” the
woman answered hesitantly.


Look, Sandra.
It was fun, okay. I fucked you in the ass and well...” he
stammered, trying to find something interesting to say. “It’s just
that, well... you’re boring. This is all boring. Do you know how
many women just like you’ve I’ve fucked in the ass just to watch
them squirm? Or had them lick my toes... I even had one girl lick
another girl’s ass while I watched. It’s boring, though. All so
damn boring.”

The woman’s expression turned
from shocked bewilderment to rage. “You think just because you’re
Stan Cherry you can just treat someone this way?”

Stan shrugged and watched the
angry girl scoop up her clothes and head towards the door. “Yeah,
pretty much. Oh, and your tramp stamp sucks. I hate those things.
What is it, anyway? Like a big advertisement screaming out to fuck
you in the ass? How do butterflies translate to ass fucking?”

"You were a lousy fuck anyway,"
the woman spat as she slammed the door behind her.

Stan laughed out loud. He was
sure the incident would be on the gossip blogs by the next morning.
He could see the head lines. 'Stan Cherry can't get it up!' 'Is
Stan Cherry Gay?' It wouldn't matter. When you were the lead singer
of a band as popular as Slut Girl, girls willing to do whatever he
wanted were a dime a dozen. And like they said, even bad press was
press. He’d sell another million records and it would all be
good.

He lay in the bed staring at the
ceiling. Was this all there was to it? Fame and fortune were...
boring?

There was a knock at his door.
"Stan? Are you all right in there?"

"Come on in, Candy," he replied
and turned so he could watch as his personal assistant entered.

He was struck, as he always was,
at just how big the girl was. It didn't matter how much she did for
him, how she kept his chaotic life in order, how she put up with
his temper tantrums, or just how she was always there to talk to,
he always came back to her size. She was fairly tall for a woman,
bumping up against six feet, but weighed in somewhere north of
three hundred pounds. She had flaming red hair and sin the color of
ivory. She was smart and funny and if she hadn't been so big Stan
would have been all over her. She dropped a duffel bag she was
carrying into one of the room’s many chairs and then took in the
scene of the destroyed hotel room.

"That ought to be in the papers
in the morning," Candy said as she came in, assessing the room.
"And this is going to cost you."

Stan ignored her comment. “You
don’t remember the conversation about tramp stamps? I hate tramp
stamps. I thought you weren’t going to send any more up that had
them?”

The room was a mess. There were
empty booze containers strewn about, stacks of empty pizza boxes,
and enough discarded clothes to cover a football team. The bed
sheets were in shreds and someone had attempted to build a camp
fire with the destroyed pieces of the end tables. She was right, of
course. It was going to cost him. It was going to cost more,
however, to try and keep yet another drunken rage from the
tabloids. He vaguely remembered the start of the party the night
before, after the show, but how he'd ended up fucking the blond in
the ass this morning, bored out of his mind, was beyond him. He was
missing the time in between.


So you
seriously want me to inspect each and every bimbo that we pick out
to come party in your room? For a tramp stamp?”

Stan shrugged.


What do you
think the papers would say if they got a hold of that?”

"Fuck the papers," Stan spat.
"They'll just make up the same shit anyway. Might as well give them
something to write about."

"Sure," Candy began, "yet
another rock star trashing yet another hotel room. Yet another rock
star with stupid taste in women. No one's heard that one before.
You're rapidly becoming a past tense. I fully expect to read the
story, some day, where you've drunk yourself to death."

Stan spread his hands wide and
grinned sheepishly. "Who, me?"

"Yes you," Candy began as she
bent and started cleaning up around him. She stopped and stared at
him for a moment, concerned and serious look on her face. "Really
Stan, is this what you want with your life?"

Stand shrugged. "I'm bored,
Candy. None of this thrills me anymore, not like in the beginning.
I have everything I ever wanted and now," he paused, staring at
her, "I'm just bored."

"That's why you're bored," Candy
told him, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're the boss now. The
big cheese. You have everything you want but none of it is
satisfying. Any of those girls at a concert would be happy to come
back here with you and let you do whatever you wanted to them, just
like that one. And now that you can have everything you want, you
don't want any of it."

Stan sat up in the bed, his
nakedness bothering neither him nor Candy. "And, oh wise one, just
what do you suggest?"

She smiled. "Oh, I wouldn’t
suggest anything, Stan. Even if I did have something to suggest,
you couldn’t handle it anyway.”

The way she batted her bright
blue eyes and smiled at him peaked his interest. He'd, on occasion,
thought about having sex with his assistant. What managerial type
hadn't thought about banging a subordinate. But it would, as it
always did, ruin their relationship. Candy was just too valuable in
her position. She took care of him and not in just finding tramp
stamp free women for his nightly binges. Sure, he was a rock star,
but someone had to take care of the business of it all. Besides,
she was a big girl. What would they say about him in the papers if
he were with a big girl. He’d be the laughing stock of the
tabloids.

"I'm sorry, Candy," he began,
trying to figure out a way to let her down easy, "but you and I
couldn't work. We work together and... well."

Candy laughed loudly, "Oh
Stan... you think I want to have sex with you? Do you think I’m one
of these fawning little bitches that wants you to fuck them in the
ass just so I can go tell my friends that I fucked Stan
Cherry?”

"That's not what you were about
to suggest?" he asked, perplexed. Everyone wanted to have sex with
him. He was Stan Cherry, after all. He was sure even the roadies
wanted to fuck him.

"Oh no. Not in the least," she
cooed, somewhat seductively. "Or at least not in the way you fuck.
I don't want to have sex with you. I want to punish you.”


I’m sorry?” he
said, unable to pull his eyes from the very low cut shirt exposing
her mountains of fleshy boobs. How come I’ve never noticed they
were that big before. Those have to be the biggest tits I’ve ever
seen, he thought.

"You heard me. I want to beat
you senseless for all the things you've done to these poor little
girls. You're not a good guy, Stan. Not at all. You've been nothing
but a spoiled little brat since I've worked for you." Candy stood,
coming around to the side of the bed, nearer to where Stan was. As
he watched, speechless, she pulled a pillow out of its case and
then proceeded to pull the the case in half, splitting it at the
seams. "You are a bad little boy, aren't you Stan?"

Stan didn't know how to respond.
He'd played these games with women before, letting them thing they
were in charge of him, but it wasn't really his style. "Candy,
please. Stop this before you embarrass yourself. You don't want to
do this. We work together... it just wouldn't be right."

He told her no, but he was
pretty sure he wanted her to continue. Just what was going on here?
He watched, mesmerized, as she worked at tying his arm to the
bedpost. She moved slowly, methodically and, when she bent over
him, he was again exposed to the grandiose view down her shirt. His
flaccid penis stirred and he felt the deep grumblings of an
erection. He hoped she wouldn’t stop, despite his words.

She didn't pout at the verbal
rejection an she didn't stop. Instead she took his hand, ever so
gently, and tied one end of the pillow case around it. "I
appreciate that you want to spare my feelings. The feeling,
however, is not mutual." She then roughly pushed his hand back, to
the bed frame, and finished tying his arm to the bed.

"What are you doing?" Stan
asked, part of him wanting to know what was going to happen if he
let her. His skin tingled at her touch and his erection grew. That
it was there, out front and easy to see was only slightly
embarrassing. Candy had seen him naked more times than he could
remember.

"You like to be in control,
Stan, right?" She asked as she stood, walking towards the other
side of the bed. "You like the little girls to tell you that they
like it in the ass, right? Even when they don’t? You liked to be a
bit sadistic.”

Fear mixed with anticipation and
he wondered what she was going to do next. Was she really angry at
him or was she playing? They’d joked and played around for years.
Their easy going relationship was one of the reasons he liked
working with her so much. But there was something dark and angry in
her voice along with a sort of playfulness he hadn’t heard
before.

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