Sin Delicious

Chapter One-2

I glance sideways to gauge Sindee’s reaction to all this. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright, despite the m*******a in her system. Anything rude takes priority in her senses. She looks hungry for the c**k but she won’t ever take it – not his. She has standards. Certainly nothing like as stringent as my own, but standards nonetheless, even if she was probably hating them right now. It’s only because it’s so unusually quiet that she is here at all. Tonight’s gig has been cancelled due to massive unseasonal downpours here in – hang on, I don’t even know which country we are in anymore – Slovenia or Slovakia, or somewhere. Anyway, it’s all flooded out so we are stuck here waiting to see if it will clear, whilst the main group in our touring party, US metal giants Thunderhed, have zipped off back to Germany where their album has just gone to number one, to do some stuff for MTV Europe. Most of the fun went with them.

However, good old Russell still managed to bag himself a babe. We had been kicking about in the hotel bar most of the afternoon, trying not to die of boredom. The entrance here is by pass key only and the tour manager took the opportunity to confiscate all ours, presumably to keep everyone on site and cut down on the incidences of arrest for drunk and disorderly behaviour. Russell popped off to the bathroom where he found the blonde lodged fast in the window she was trying to climb through. He gallantly helped her in and, since band member/groupie trysts require no conversational foreplay whatsoever, he led her out by the hand and took her giggling straight to his room. Sindee spotted him and dragged me with her as she gave chase. If she wasn’t going to be partaking in any s*x, watching it would be the next best thing.

Russell pinches out another small line across the top of his glistening shaft. The blonde gives a little clap of excitement. Her face is all wide eyes and wide smiles in her glee.

“Let’s see that ass of yours, baby,” says the silly drummer in a contrived accent of hybrid Anglo-American. I don’t care though, because I want to see the blonde’s backside as much as he does. I’d prefer to have a finger inside me when I did but I cannot possibly do that here, although it’s an act that wouldn’t even make the Top 100 of this particular European Tour’s Most Wanton. If I take enough pictures of her bare posterior it will give me adequate fuel for my imagination when I do later get myself alone. The blonde is still completely without reticence, turning away and giving him a little wiggle of the hips. Her hands are already sliding up her thighs, bringing up her short denim skirt. She is smiling back over her shoulder, batting her lashes and licking her lips provocatively. I wonder if she would be like this is we were three average strangers she had met in a bar, or whether it is specifically the rock band element that has brought out the porn star in her. One thing you very quickly learn about the world of rock music is that it strips away all previously held notions of morality.

The knickers are sliding down now and you can feel the buzz of anticipation coming from all three of us witnesses. She pushes her backside out to help bring herself on display. If there is a more obvious way to silently say ‘f**k me’ then I cannot think of it: a pretty girl sticking her bare bottom in your direction as her underwear slowly comes down, the swell of her puss just visible between her pressed-together thighs, the dark line between her cheeks opening just slightly to give you a glimpse of the naughtiness between.

I had expected a tattoo somewhere on her behind, what with her being such a dirty-minded young lady, but the seemingly virginal perfection of her pale expanse adds an unexpected dimension and is some consolation. The bum is a good size and has a nice curve. I know it will be made of that lovely springy flesh that younger chubby-rumped girls can have. It will feel soft and cool to press into but there will be resistance. Slapping hard against it will not send juddering waves lolling through it but mere ripples, the cheeks quickly back to their lovely shape as soon as the forward press relents.

It must indeed be a gorgeous rear because Russell deigns to unbutton his jeans and drag them down around his knees, wanting to get his thighs and balls against the softness of her rather than just do her informally with his prick poking out of his zip. It must be love! He does this without disturbing the little ridge of coke along the top of his shaft, although her saliva no doubt helped bond the drug to his skin.

“You want me to give you my special ‘sherbet dip’, darlin’?” he leers.

She might not know of this, his trademark s*x move, but it is pretty obvious what is on offer and she gives another little squeal of delight. He guides himself into her, pressing down at the very base of his erection and breaching her with the fat head. He begins an unhurried forward slide, the downward pressure on his shaft opening her puss to ensure the line of narcotic stays upon him as he goes inside her, rather than piling up and spilling off at her entrance. He sinks into her until he can go no further. Both give a sigh and throw their heads back. She will be clenching him within, her sensitive, saturated insides gripping at his meat and greedily absorbing the white powder upon it, drawing the high into her system. It is a perfect example of rock & roll excess. It didn’t necessarily enhance the s*x, nor was it apparently the most beneficial way to take the drug. It was done purely because it could be, because it was different from the norm, because it was a depravity that could be chalked up as done.

I expect his f**k to be instantly manic but instead he slides in and out of her at a measured pace, almost as if he wants her to enjoy it. He presses in and fills her and then gyrates his hips, wriggling his great prick within the confines of her young body. She exhales loudly and her mouth stays open. The withdrawal is slow. From side-on I see each shining fraction of the shaft re-emerge, the powder upon it all but gone. She pushes back as if desperate not to lose him. I can just see the darker shades of his swollen head at her entrance and I squeeze my hips together and clench down there, like I too am trying to keep a grip on him. He pauses and holds her still before his next forward push, a slightly faster slide than his out-stroke, gathering sudden pace just at the end to finish hard against her behind. He is all the way inside her and one can only guess how wonderful that feels.

He slips off his shirt, expertly leaving the bandana on his head undisturbed. The tattoos on his torso are many and dirty-looking but I’ve seen it all before. He finishes each gig bare-chested, whether in a Marseilles heat wave or a Reykjavik freeze. His biceps and shoulders are large, as you’d expect from someone who hits things for a living. His hands are big and strong and make her look so soft. They grip and indent the pale flesh at her hips and he looks powerful and controlled, totally in his element. Suddenly he isn’t so ridiculous. He seems expert, perhaps even dangerous. With the thick chrome rings in his ears and the short goatee beard he could pass for a Hell’s Angel.

The stupid words he usually utters are gone and now he is silent. He doesn’t do mock s*x faces for the camera like a porn star would. Instead there is only concentration there, and a little bloom on the cheek from his desire. One could easily think him handsome, in a piratey-biker kind of way. Having earlier ridiculed his arse I now have to privately concede that it isn’t bad at all – rounded and taut, smooth-looking, and with a nice dimple in the side. It is rather mesmeric watching the change in the muscles beneath his skin as he moves back and forth; the clench and relaxation – especially in comparison to the effects his thrusts have on her softer behind.

The two of them move in perfect unison, her slight backward thrust timed to allow the smooth entry of his curved prick. The depth he gets is tantalising. The noises her puss makes are wet and luscious and she coats his shaft with glistening cream. If you have never watched two people having s*x in the flesh then you must. In some ways it is more exciting than doing it yourself, and incomparable to watching it on screen. Here there is no need for trite dialogue. No concessions to camera angles are required, despite my lens pointing at them. He can hold her as he wants and drive in deep to produce that most alluring sound of all: the sound of a man slapping against a woman’s bottom as he takes her from behind. Nothing here masks the raw lust and energy, the beauty of the bodies in harmony, the rhythm and the exquisite noises.

In some ways I wish I was watching them covertly, just to accentuate the thrill of seeing them in dirty action. However, being performed for makes it ruder and thus more exciting. This way I get to see them up close, to be near enough almost to feel the heat of their lust, to smell it above the smoke in the air. The desire is palpable and it draws you in. I wonder what feelings are fizzling through her puss, what effect the drug has on her sensitivity, what unique thrills the metal of his piercing gives to her tingling insides. It must be good because she is so enraptured she can hardly make a sound. The evidence is all there in the cream she keeps leaching all over his shaven balls.

Together they seem somehow professional. Russell might be generally inane but whilst he keeps his mouth shut this is only about bodies and heat, wetness and excitement. It is about primal needs and nothing more. I watch through the lens, zooming in to isolate just their two behinds, framing nothing but their f**k. It should be rude but it is only beautiful, like human kinetic art. Everything matches and is right: their fine-tuned movements; his power against her softness; his darker pink skin against her paleness. They know absolutely nothing of each other except that each needs a bone-shuddering orgasm and both want to do their damndest to ensure this happens. It is so erotic watching two people who want to please each other in dirty action. Until you do so you will never truly appreciate what a beautiful symmetry s*x can be.

He has built to a steady rhythm now, mid-pace and hard into her. I could watch her backside like this all day. With each slap against her I squeeze my thighs together, trying to get some pressure there, hoping I can resist doing anything more wanton to myself in his presence. It seems surreal to be so closely witnessing this most private of acts, having barged in uninvited, to casually watch something so personal whilst not even knowing for sure which country you are in. It is almost dream-like to be unapologetically sat there getting turned on by a man you generally do not like, whilst he pleasures a girl he cannot even name. But then this is the mad world I have been living in for weeks now, one in which anything seems possible and where most of the protagonists are hell bent on proving that point.

I am vaguely aware that Sindee beside me has actually given in and is clutching hard at her leather-clad crotch. I want her to do that to mine but I don’t want this degenerating into something I will regret. This could turn into anything now, such is this bizarre Band on Tour bubble we are currently living in. It could be a threesome, although I hope Sindee has the strength to stick to her principles. If she doesn’t it will be even harder not to make it a foursome, however much it would burn to finally give him the victory of getting me naked. It could be two separate couples, feeding off the excitement of watching each other, perhaps even swapping partners. Again, I don’t want to give him anything he could crow endlessly about afterwards. I’m on a knife-edge though.