I won't even go into how I got myself backstage. Nothing special to that story - women around the world have tried variations of the same desperate machinations, most of which never even work. All I was hoping for was to see him up close; to brush past him in the hallway, maybe; at the most, to have the pleasure of him speaking to me directly. As far as I knew, Rhys was just like any other famous musician and had no reputation for being open to meeting fans or being especially nice to them. If you based your expectations on his stage persona, you'd probably assume the opposite. "Who the bloody hell are you?" or "Get the fuck out of my way, bitch!" would have met with my expectations.
The way I finally got my encounter was not much different than how I, and millions of women before me, have imagined it, as unlikely as it is that such a scenario might ever come to pass; I never really believed it might happen for me, either. As it turns out, Rhys has different standards than most rock stars, and here I am. In the press of screaming females lining the hallway between the stage and the dressing room, as the raving mob surged back and forth, a crack appeared in the wall of bodyguards and Rhys was catapulted into me, smashing me between his body and the wall. Pinned against me, he glanced down at my cleavage flattened against his side, then up to my eyes. There was a jolt, and I felt some awareness or understanding pass between us.
"Hey," he said, a little smile playing across his lips. It seemed that he knew this little accident of Fate had just made my night, if not the rest of my life, and he was clearly amused. There was only time for a single breath and a heartbeat before the burly wall of muscle that was his entourage regained control of the crowd, and Rhys was tugged back into their protective circle, sweeping on down the hall at surprising speed. I was quivering with the unexpected bliss of even that brief physical contact when, even more surprising, Rhys looked back toward me and shouted to one of the heavyset guys at the rear of his bodyguard, "Her! Get her!"
A human rhino broke off from the pack and started fighting the tide to get back to where I was standing. There was a slim, empty-eyed blonde in a push-up bra standing right next to me, and he stopped in front of her. My heart sank, because I knew Rhino was thinking what everyone, including me, was thinking: that there was no way Rhys could have picked me out of a crowd. My dark blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail, skin-tight stretch jeans, concert T-shirt with the neck cut out and chunky black boots were hardly the type of thing to stand out in a crowd. The bitch next to me, looking up at the bodyguard with a self-satisfied smile, was as unreal as something out of a magazine ad. Next to her I looked like a chubby nun. But I heard Rhys's voice, from way down the hall, calling: "Not that one, man! Tits! The one with the tits!" Rhino scanned around, looking confused, and then his eyes landed on me with an "A-ha!" expression.
He grabbed my arm and we were moving. He led me down a series of flourescent-lit corridors, each more anonymous than the last, until at last we reached Rhys's dressing room. As I stood there feeling like I as having an out-of-body experience, Rhino knocked. I heard Rhino say my name. Then he pulled his head out and held the door open for me, gesturing that I should go in. As soon as I was inside, it became evident that the little frission that had passed between us had bought me a chance, nothing more. There were five other women there, each of them more devastatingly beautiful than the last, and the ugliest one among them made my competition from back in the hallway look cheap by comparison. I should have expected as much; the girls in the hallway were the prettiest girls around here, these were the sexiest women in the world. Models, with flat bellies and wicked hips above the low-slung waists of barely-there micromini skirts, and cheekbones you could use to scrape the ice from a frozen windshield. In this company I was no longer even cute; I felt like a cow. Rhys was sitting on a black leather couch surrounded by these genetic miracles. As I stood there, frozen in the doorway, he gave me his trademark lazy sneer and slapped a few of their perfectly-manicured fingers away from the fly of his black leather pants. Then he beckoned, with a hand that gripped a bottle of vodka, for me to come closer.
I knew this could go one of two ways: I could let the models stare me down and leave, and end up wondering for the rest of my life what might have happened if I had stayed, or I could focus on Rhys and trust in the jolt I'd felt earlier. He'd asked for me for a reason, and clearly he was waiting to see what I'd do. Keeping eye contact, I walked over and stood right in front of him. I let my eyes travel down his sweaty, bare chest to the waistband of his pants. The top button was already undone. I looked back to his eyes, and once again felt that sizzle of connection. I licked my lips, breathed in deep, and smiled. He held the eye contact for a long moment, letting the tension build between us. Before I could lose my nerve, I knelt between his legs and put my hands on his knees, my eyes still on his. He leaned toward me. My heart was hammering so hard I almost felt sick. His eyes moved down to where the wide neck of the cut-up t-shirt had fallen away from my chest. It was then that I noticed that his eyes were rolling just a bit too freely in their sockets; he was already drunk. Quick as a snake, he stuck a hand in, under my bra. I shuddered. He looked up at my face, watching me bite my lip. I very deliberately straightened my shoulders, pushing my breast even more firmly into his grasp.
"Nice," he said, giving my breast a firm squeeze. Then he jerked his hand out from under my shirt, flopped back on the couch and, grinning, took a long pull from the bottle. The models had shifted away a bit, but no one had actually left the couch. He hadn't told anyone to leave, but I could feel their confusion: they weren't sure where this was going. He kept his eyes on mine, then very deliberately directed his gaze down to his crotch. I got the message, and smiled again.
Leaning forward, I slowly unzipped his pants. As soon as the zipper began to descend, it became obvious that he was naked underneath. The zipper trailed lower and lower. He shifted and seemed to tense under my hands. At first I thought he was worried I would snag him with the metal teeth, but as my eager hands found his cock I understood the source of his unease. His cock was perfectly-shaped and as smooth as sueded silk, but the size was average. Instantly I imagined how many times this scenario might have played out: some horny groupie discovering that although her idol has a hot face, hard body, rock star attitude, and a prodigious talent, he has an average cock. And letting her disappointment show. I've known men who are above average and can't get over the idea that women may find them lacking, so how much worse is it for a man who knows that women expect him to be exceptional in every regard, and knows that he is merely average. But I knew that this particular Achilles heel was only going to work to my advantage.
As if in confirmation of the scenario in my head, there came a sigh from one of the supermodels as she glanced down. He winced, his expression instantly turning angry and bitter. I heard the leather creak as the other women all shifted uncomfortably. I knew exactly what to do, and acted instantly. I ducked my head and sucked his cock eagerly into my mouth. For a moment I just held him there, rubbing a bit with my tongue, tasting the sweat from the night's performance and savoring his particular brand of masculine musk. I let what I was doing, and who I was doing it to, spread though me and heat me up from the inside out. I love sucking cock, and Rhys' "mere mortal" dimensions did not stop me from feeling privileged and excited to have my mouth locked around his cock in particular. I started to suck enthusiastically, stroking the shaft with my tongue as I bobbed my head up and down, enjoying my ability to take him all the way in. It wasn't long before he started to get hard, and I started to moan. Suddenly I felt a hand in my hair. Rhys was jerking my head up, pulling me away. I reflexively fought against him, trying to keep my mouth wrapped around his cock. I heard him laugh, a warm, genuine sound. I looked up at him, my eyes still glazed with passion.
"You like that, do you?" he said, his confident smirk restored. My pulse quickened. Yes, oh god, you'll never know ...
"Mmmmmm," was the only sound I could make, keeping eye contact as I pressed down, sliding my lips back down the shaft. He groaned and relaxed his grip on my hair, letting his head fall all the way back against the couch. His eyelids slowly lowered. I closed my eyes, too, and plied the head of his cock with my tongue.
"Get out," he said, and the models knew he meant them. In a moment they had all vanished, and I was once again completely absorbed in lavishing his cock with my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the head, sucked all the way down to the base, and back up to the tip. I lapped along the slit, teasing at the opening. He purred, hips pressing up toward me. This turned me on almost beyond what I could stand. Here I was, giving obvious pleasure to a man I'd fantasized about so many times that it all blended into one memory of prolonged orgasmic bliss. My nipples were as hard as if my bra were made of ice instead of lace. My thighs ached to spread themselves for him, but I concentrated on the task at hand: keeping my mouth firmly locked around his rock-hard, rock star cock. I stroked his tightening balls in my hand as my tongue swirled over the head of his cock again and again. Not wanting this delicious arousal to end, and feeling a little cocky in view of my success, I pulled away as I felt the first stirrings of an orgasm start in his pulsing shaft. His eyes snapped open. His bleach-blond hair was even more spikey and wild than usual, and his eyes looked dangerous, possibly angry.
"You want to play, do you?" he demanded, sitting up. I wondered if I had gone too far. But he was grinning again. Just having him look me right in the eyes made my head swim. My panties were already soaked inside my jeans; I didn't see how I could get any wetter, any more turned on, without fainting. He held out the vodka bottle and tilted the opening to my lips. Steadying it with both of my shaking hands, I took a swallow. He lowered the bottle and leaned in slowly until his mouth and mine were an inch apart. My belly burned as I felt his warm breath against my lips. His burning breath filled the space between our mouths. He slid off the couch, bringing us against each other belly-to-belly. His upthrusting cock caught under the edge of my shirt and rubbed against my bare stomach.
"You want to fucking play, is that it?" he snarled against my mouth. My lips instinctively parted, but all I could do was moan. He reached down and fumbled at the top button of my jeans. I hurried to help him. As soon as I took over, his hands trailed up and released my hair from the ponytail. It fell down around my face, over my shoulders. I looked up, and he took a good look at me. Frission again. Rhys's hand trailed down my cheek, coming to rest on my shoulder. His thumb traced the hollow of my throat. My throat was still burning from that slug of vodka; I swallowed hard.
Soon all four of our hands were shoving at the waistband of my jeans, peeling them down over my hips, revealing a my pink bikini panties. I blushed, but I don't think he even noticed. As soon as my jeans were pressed down over my thighs, he slid his hands around and cupped my ass, pulling me into him and sandwiching his straining cock between us. He was strong. A low growl deep in his throat assured me that he was a man who liked a woman to have an ass he could grab hold of. Next thing I knew, he had maneuvered me around so I was facing the couch and he was behind me, my legs trapped between his, his cock now digging insistently into the small of my back. He bent me over the couch roughly, tugged my panties down, and began rubbing the head of his cock at the slick opening to my pussy. I was soaking wet, panting against the leather, pressing my hips back against him, trying to force him into me. But Rhys wasn't interested in what I wanted; he took his time, teasing me. Even though I was clenched tight with anticipation, I was so wet that there was only a whisper of resistance as he slid into me. A deep, pleasurable shock shuddered through my body at the sensation of having him inside me. He made a few lazy thrusts, as if testing the waters. Little did I realize that he was getting ideas ...
He thrust into me again, then slid out slowly, and brought his hard, wet cock up a few inches, lining it up with my ass. I tensed with surprise, but he merely rubbed the head of his cock back and forth over my tight little hole. He repeated this again and again until my ass was nearly as slippery the glistening pink flesh of my pussy. Although I was unsure of this new development, I was still as turned on as I had ever been. He tested me, holding me by the hips, he slowly pressed forward a little, then withdrew, and went back to rubbing up and down in the crack of my ass, letting me get used to feeling him there. Although I think he had already guessed the answer, he bent over me, his warm skin covering the length of my back, the head of his cock pressing firmly against my tight hole, and whispered against my ear: "Ever done it like this before, sweetheart?" His voice was husky but surprisingly tender. I shook my head no.
"Mmmmmmm," he moaned, pressing his hips forward again, just a little, before he easing off. The next flex of his hips pushed a little bit further. He reached one hand up and swept the hair away from the side of my face, kissing the side of my neck in time with his controlled but increasingly insistent thrusts. Continuing at this excruciatingly cautious pace, he eased us along, breathing his hot breath against my ear in between kisses. It had a hypnotic effect. My body had almost completely relaxed, my apprehensions based on everything I had heard about this kind of intimacy were melting away. My total arousal, along with his achingly slow pace, meant I had felt not even a twinge of pain. In fact, the effect of this prolonged, gentle assault had been devastating: my eyes were closed, my nipples achingly hard, my clit throbbing, and we were both moaning in rhythm with the pulse of his hips. I was trembling beneath him. He had nearly worked himself all the way past the tight ring of muscle guarding the opening to my ass when he stopped completely. I gave a small cry of disappointment at the break in the sensuous rhythm. He continued to press hot kisses against the back of my neck. Then he grabbed his cock at the base, and held it, resuming the back and forth rhythm, but only to that same point, no further. I could hardly stand it, the sense of anticipation that had been building in me was nearly overwhelming. I started to shake, overcome with need and an intense feeling of vulnerability. Without a conscious decision on my part, my hips started to pulse back and forth, trying to draw him in. My ass was warm, utterly pliant and welcoming now, and we were only a breath away from complete penetration, but as I moved my hips he moved with me, never letting me push him across the final barrier. I writhed, whimpering in frustration.
"Just ask for it, baby," Rhys said, his voice hoarse. I could feel how tightly he was gripping the base of his cock, keeping it from slipping all the way into me. "Tell me you want it."
"Please," I gasped, my face hot, my hips still pulsing back against him, "Yes. I want it." He moaned, loud, and tilt my face back awkwardly so an angle where he could see my eyes. His gaze was like a strong hand holding me down as he worked his way past the final barrier with a series of firm half-thrusts. Once past the tight ring of muscle, he slid balls-deep into me with a silky smoothness, no further resistance. Even so, there was a little sting to this first full thrust, but it instantly melted away into a sensation so visceral that I could not distinguish physical from emotional; my heart thundered. He let go of my face, satisfied at having looked into my eyes as he took my ass for the first time. Now that he was completely inside me, he didn't seem to want to leave: and he barely withdrew an inch before thrusting back in. His left arm snaked under mine and took hold of my shoulder. He used the leverage to start fucking me in earnest. I surrounded him tightly and completely. Over and over, his cock thrust smoothly yet forcefully in and out of that so-sensitive circle of flesh; the sound of his breathing, his hot weight on top of me, and his smooth heat and hardness inside me completely absorbed my senses.
After a few dozen thrusts, he slowed down again, then stopped. I didn't have time to complain before he straightened up, pulling me with him. Now we were both kneeling, his throbbing cock still firmly in place. He reached up under my shirt and slowly kneaded my breasts through my bra. Then, reaching further up, Rhys slid my bra straps down my shoulders, and lifted my breasts until my nipples came free of the fabric. Gently, he smoothed his thumbs back and forth across them. When my pussy convulsed, and with it my ass, we both groaned aloud. He slid one hand down my ribcage, over my belly, and into the triangle of hair at the top of my pussy. Still flicking my nipple with the other hand, he slid his calloused, guitar-player's fingers through the soft hair, and down, lower, into the warm, slick folds at the top of my pussy. With two fingers he spread me apart, stroking and sliding over my clit. I leaned back against, him panting. He took my weight against him effortlessly. Then he bent a little at the waist, which caused him to slip out of me slightly, and sliding his fingers lower, he hooked the first two knuckles of his middle and ring fingers into my pussy. This brought another deep moan from both of us.
Slowly, his thumb reached up toward my clit, and he rubbed over it lazily, once. Twice. His fingers reached deeper inside me. Another rub over my clit with his thumb, timed to the flicking of my nipple with his other hand. Slowly, experimentally, he straightened, sliding his cock hilt-deep into my ass again. Another moan. Another rub of my clit. Another twitch of the fingers inside me. His breathing growing ragged, but he stayed still. My eyes rolled back into my head. Rub. Twitch. Moan. Thrust, as he somehow managed to move his hips enough to slide back and forth in my ass. Oh, god, there was the frission, and I wasn't even looking at him. All it took was knowing he was there, pressed against me, inside me, with no limit to how deeply he could fuck me. Rub-flick, twitch-moan, thrust. The thrusts were very deliberate, they had to be. I arched my back, wanting to help him drive into me as deeply as he could. Stroke-rub, twitch-flick, thrust-moan. If I had felt the simple sensation of having him in my ass was overwhelming, the blistering heat of this concert of sensations threatened to drive me completely beyond the realm of conscious thought. He was playing me with the same deliberate, focused passion that made him so magnificent on stage. That was what finally drove me right over the edge, turned me into a hungry, surging body with no thought or will for anything but fucking and being fucked. This man, NOW. His fingers sliding and flexing inside me, his thumbs shuddering over my most sensitive pink flesh, his breath on my neck, against my ear, across my cheek ... his voice moaning, his hot, hard flesh pressed against me and inside me, straining, and the gentle, incessant pressure on my clit ... Oh, god. I came, harder than I ever had before. My legs and shoulders spasming, he had to hold me up. My face was hot, so burning hot. When the last echoes of the most intense orgasm of my life began to quiet at last, he lowered me down onto the couch. The leather felt cool against my fevered cheek and breasts. He was still hard inside me, his cock bucking with eagerness, and now it was his turn.
He started again slowly, teasingly, as he had at the beginning. But now Rhys allowed himself his own path to pleasure, and it wasn't long before he grew sated of teasing and his rhythm accelerated, his thrusts growing more and more purposeful. His fingers bit into my hips, so tightly was he gripping me, using my body for leverage on each thrust. He threw himself down on top of me again, his chest heaving as he groaned against the side of my neck. His hand reached underneath me, and he found my breast. He kneaded my tit-flesh firmly, his moans coming faster and louder. I moved urgently underneath him, panting, trying to take him completely into me on each stroke, to match his urgent rhythm. I felt his cock turn to steel and I knew he was about to come. My own cry of pleasure was nearly as loud as his as I felt his heat come spilling into me. He convulsed against me for a long moment, his hand clutching my breast, then his weight came down fully onto me and he was still. We lay unmoving, catching our breath. It wasn't until he finally pulled out of me that I realized that I was just a bit sore. But it didn't seem worth noticing in the face of the pleasure he'd given me, and my knowledge of the pleasure I'd given him. Still, I stood up a little gingerly, my legs shaky.
He looked me over and grinned at my shellshocked expression. I was completely at a loss. I didn't really want to pull my pants up, because the only thing that was going to help my soaking wet panties was a trip through the laundry. He walked over to a small bar located in the corner of the room, and tossed me a white hand towel from beside the sink. Then he flopped his spent cock into the basin and started soaping it up. I smiled as I watched his performance, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. The way he was stroking his cock, it was like he was jerking off with the soap. My nipples stood back up and I couldn't help chuckling, though I quickly tried to surpress it. He glanced back over his shoulder at me and gave me the cocky, self-satisfied grin of a man who knows he has laid his woman well. I walked over and stood behind him, checking myself out in the mirror above the sink. I was flushed a serious pink, visibly sweaty, and my hair was extremely tousled, and not in a cute way. When he was done and dry, and I had done what I little I could to clean up without benefit of a shower, Rhys looked me over again. He reached out and rested his hand against my side, which made me move instinctively to close the gap between us. My reaction made his eyes twinkle. Again, he grinned.
"Now what are we going to do with you, then?" he asked. The question seemed rhetorical. At no point during the proceedings had I stopped to think about what would happen afterward. If you had asked me, I would have told you I fully expected to be patted on the ass and shown the door. "You're coming with me?" he asked. I was too taken by surprise to answer right away. Finally, I nodded, blushing, though I was still so pink I doubt he could tell. He smiled and said, "Yeah."
He went to the door and stuck his head out, at which point Rhino reappeared. My face burned, thinking about all he might have heard while standing just outside the door. But I also knew that it was probably nothing new to him, and my embarassment was mixed with a shy pride.
"Hey, Rick," Rhys said, "Let's get her on the bus."