The Green Room

I flirt shamelessly with you. Not with words and giggles but with touches and looks. Nothing overt, just a knee brushing another knee under the table or my bare arm whispering across yours as I reach across the table. It feels like magnets where there is a moment of hesitation before the two magnets collide and are locked together.

Each touch could be accidental. Every signal could be misinterpreted as merely friendly or unintentional. But there is nothing unintentional in your eyes. Even in the dimly lit bar, your eyes send sparks that travel like white heat from my throat to my core.

I squirm and cross my legs again, feeling my ankle brush up against your pant leg. You give me one last look, your eyes bright with possibilities and hunger, before you head up to the stage with your guitar.

You play every song to me, ignoring the rest of the crowd. In between songs, you caress your guitar's neck unconsciously. I stare at your fingers, mesmerized. I imagine your fingers on my neck instead, lightly stroking, testing, teasing. You pick up the pace on your guitar, the amps pushed to their limit as the music screams out over the crowd.

As the music becomes more frenzied, I become more lost. I look up to see you staring at me again, willing my eyes to meet yours. I resist the urge to spread my legs, to hook my ankles around the two chairs next to me, resting my feet on them. To lift my skirt and show you what you've done to me. Show you the wet stain on my panties where I couldn't control my excitement. To watch your reaction from the stage, where you're helpless to do anything.

I want to see if you can keep up your assault on your guitar while I assault your eyes. I want to slip a finger inside of myself while you watch. I want to see if your cock grows in your pants, if your fingers slide off the fret board. I want to feel your frustration pound out through your music while you watch me pull aside my panties to show you my cunt and then show you my fingers slipping into it. I want to pull my dripping fingers out and slide them into my mouth, sucking my own juices off hungrily, showing you what hungry looks like.

Instead, I shift in my seat and sigh. I run my fingers up and down my own arm, feeling the small hairs on it rise up, imagining it is your fingers.

Your set is over. You're drenched in sweat. Your energy is no longer frantic and restless, but driven and confident. You pass by my table and without stopping tilt your head towards the back, motioning for me to follow. The Green Room is not green at all, but a morose gray. The walls are covered with graffiti touting the bands that have played there. The couch has seen better days, it's cushions ripped and stained. The room smells vaguely of cigarettes and stale beer.

You put your guitar away and turn towards me. I open my mouth to say something, maybe to congratulate you on your show, but nothing comes out. You are striding towards me, fast and purposeful. In two long steps you have reached me. You kick your black leather boot between my legs and put your hands on my shoulders, walking me backwards rapidly. I hit the wall with a soft grunt of surprise and a widening of the eyes. Your eyes have not left mine. You take your hand and put it below my throat. Not around my throat, but turned sideways, your fingers splayed out to the side, pinning me in place. I keep my hands to my side. I can play this game.

Your other hand lifts my shirt slightly, finding skin, tracing lazily and lightly. My breathing is shallow already and I arch my back to find more contact with your hand. You increase the pressure below my throat to show your displeasure. Your hand continues to just barely graze my skin, the same taunting touch as I had been giving you in the bar, the same almost accidental brushing. It's driving me crazy. I close my eyes to try and shut out your intensity.

"Open. Your. Eyes." You whisper through clenched teeth, your voice gravely and seductive. It's a command not a request and I immediately open my eyes again.

You lean forward and I wonder if you're going to kiss me. I sigh softly and relax my mouth, waiting for your lips. Instead you put your nose to my neck and inhale deeply, groaning slightly. Your hand stops it's roaming and settles on my waist, lightly at first and then gripping tighter. Your hips move closer to mine.

I can feel the heat coming off of you and want so badly to push my body into yours. Your mouth finds a spot on my neck and lightly grazes it. I jump at the contact, whimpering. You growl in your throat and bite. It's not the soft lovers bite of romance novels, the gentle nipping of teeth and lips, it's the bite of a hunter whos prey is trying to get free. I yelp and shift my body, trying to escape the pain, straightening up and bringing my hands up to push you away.

You push me hard against the wall, your hips pushing into mine. I can feel your cock straining against your jeans as you grind into me. You are done with games. I broke the rules and you're done waiting.

As you pin my hands above my head, holding my wrists together with one large hand, I wonder if this was a good idea. Maybe the teasing wasn't so bad. Your hand grips my wrists tighter, making me bend my knees in supplication. Your other hand grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls, the buttons popping off easily from their delicate threads. Your mouth crushes against mine, your teeth snag my lower lip and taste. Your tongue pushes into my mouth and I open wider, moaning into your mouth and arching my hips into you. You leave a trail of wet bruises between my mouth and my breasts.

You don't even attempt to take off my bra. You simply pull my breasts out of the cups where they stand out, held up by the underwire of the bra, the nipples pebbled in the cool air. One hand grabs a nipple and pulls and pinches while your mouth devours the other. I moan loudly, not sure if I'm feeling pleasure or pain or both. You switch breasts, your hand now tormenting the nipple on the other breast while your mouth sucks and bites.

You lift your mouth up and look at me again, your fingers flicking against my nipple absentmindedly. I am panting, my body twisting beneath my trapped wrists. You lean towards me, sweat glistening on your bicep, and push my wrists up higher forcing me on my toes to keep my balance and stay upright, all the while focusing your intense gaze on me. It takes all my concentration to keep my eyes open. A drop of sweat runs down my forehead and into my eyes, leaving my lashes wet. I lick my lips and your eyes flicker away from me to my mouth for a moment.

You take your hand off my breast and bring it up to my lips, pushing three fingers into my mouth. I suckle at them and now it's your turn to fight closing your eyes while my tongue swirls around your fingers, sucking and licking. You pull your fingers, slick with saliva, out of my mouth and reach under my skirt.

You push my panties aside and shove your fingers inside my pussy. I see a faint smile pass across your mouth as I gasp loudly at the sudden intrusion, your fingers thrusting insistently into me. They make a slurping sound when you pull them out and place them back in my mouth, watching intently while I clean them off.

Then your hand is fumbling with the button and zipper on your jeans. Your breathing is ragged and labored. Somehow, with one hand, you manage to get your pants down and a condom unwrapped and unrolled onto your cock. You push into me in one swift movement, pumping hard and fast. My ass hits the back of the wall, thumping in time to your fucking.

You grip my hips, your fingers pressing hard into my hip, pulling me onto your cock deeper and deeper, over and over again. You stare at me, your eyes flicking back and forth between my eyes, my mouth and my breasts. Your mouth is slightly open and you growl softly with every thrust, harder and harder, faster and faster.

I can no longer feel your hands around my wrist, your fingers digging into me. I can only feel your cock, thrusting into my pussy sending shivers of delight up my spine. Your pubic bone slams into my clit and I can feel my body tense up and start to shake. Your rhythm becomes more urgent and just as you let out a long exhale I feel my own orgasm rush into me. My knees become liquid, my cunt pulsing on your cock. I can hear myself keening a high-pitched noise that I don't even recognize as me. You push me harder to the wall as your orgasm shudders through you. I whimper and my body sags as my legs give out.

You hold me up by the wrists while you pull me away from the wall, pulling your pants up with your other hand. Gently, you let my skirt fall back down, running your hand down the length of my leg. You carefully put my breasts back in their cups, while I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. You pull my ruined shirt around me and bring my hands down to my side.

My wrists are already starting to bruise, leaving dark red welts where your fingers gripped them. You kiss each wrist. You kiss each mark. Every bruise, every welt, every bite mark is covered with your mouth and gently acknowledged.

You brush the sweaty strands of hair out of my eyes and kiss my lips tenderly, chastely. You wrap your jacket around my shoulders, buttoning it over my exposed skin, pick up your guitar and are gone.