"Alright," Rosie snapped. "Turn around." The other members of the band obediently turned their backs on her and she stepped out of her tight jeans, pulled her t-shirt over her head and picked up the black mini-dress that she planned to wear on stage. She hated having to share a dressing room with her bass player, percussionist and saxophonist but she did get a secret thrill from knowing how turned on they were getting by the thought of her standing naked behind them. Not that they knew she was completely naked, but the expensive dress was designed to hold up her full breasts without need of any other assistance and she never wore panties when she was playing. That gave her a thrill, too. For a second she stood there, feeling cool air against her skin, enjoying making them wait and then she turned to admire herself in the small, cracked dressing room mirror.
Her hair tumbled in auburn curls over her smooth bare shoulders, she had an expressive oval face with startlingly intense green eyes and her body had curves that she knew would make any one of the three men get down on their knees and beg like a dog. She looked at them, their hunched backs and thinning heads of hair and shook her head. They were sweet but they had no balls, that was their problem. That, she sometimes thought wryly, was why they were still stuck playing in shitty little clubs like this.
"Are you ready Rosie?" Miles, the drummer, muttered nervously. She walked right behind him. "I'm ready when I tell you I'm ready sweetcheeks," she murmured into his ear, reaching around his waist, squeezing his balls and making him audibly gulp. Still he didn't have the nerve to turn around. All three of them, Miles, Kit the bass player, and Gareth the saxophonist, desperately wanted to fuck her, and the knowledge that they couldn't made them ache inside.
She put the shoes on first. It turned her on to walk up and down behind them naked except for a pair of three-inch high stiletto heels pushing out her peach-shaped ass and making it wiggle. She slapped Gareth's ass. "You ready Gaz?" she teased, almost daring him to turn round.
"Sure thing Rosie!" he yelped in his squeaky, over-eager voice. "Don't you think we should go on now? The crowd are getting kinda restless."
It was true that there was a steady thud of glasses being pounded on the table from the bar next door. It was after midnight and most of the punters would be pretty drunk. Rosie picked up the dress and put it on, enjoying the feel of the filmy fabric lifting her naked breasts. "Alright guys," she instructed. "Go to it."
They knew the drill. The three of them dutifully filed out as Rosie slapped each of their asses in turn. She heard a subdued cheer and then she followed to a much more enthusiastic reception. Not that she could kid herself that it was the music they were excited about. There were maybe thirty or forty people there, mostly guys. They looked like they'd been drinking for days and some of them probably had but their eyes visibly brightened when she walked on.
She stepped up to the mic slowly, making her round ass wiggle once more as she walked. "OK," she pouted through scarlet painted lips. "We're going to play a song for you guys."
To her amusement by the second song at least two of the guys in the front row had visible hard-ons as they looked her body up and down; not missing an inch of her long, smooth legs or the breasts that looked like they were about to fall out of her low-cut dress.
In fact only one guy in the audience seemed to be listening to the music. She almost forgot the words of the next song when she saw him. He was a tall, powerful, black man leaning against the bar at the back. He must have been about fifty years old but he was broad shouldered and muscular-looking under an expensive suit. His face was craggy and ruthless with a faint scar running down one cheek and once he made eye-contact with her he didn't let go. In the end she had to break away, blushing, looking at the floor instead. There was something about his stare that made her long legs go weak.
Just then, as they came to the last song, she felt Gareth prod her nervously in the back. "You see who that is?" he squeaked. "That's Clifford Garvey."
Clifford Garvey? Rosie couldn't believe it. One of the biggest names in R&B was here, in this crappy little club, watching her play. From then on she sang to him and him alone, winding her hips down low, swivelling to give him a look at her round ass, then sashaying to the front of the stage, pouting and kissing the sensuous soul lyrics in his direction.
By the time she'd finished the place was in uproar with glasses slamming on the tables and the drunk patrons howling for more but Rosie only had eyes for Clifford Garvey who was merely smiling dryly at the back. "Fuck!" she muttered under her breath as they walked off stage. "He didn't like it."
"Well, you don't know that," ventured Gareth timidly.
"Shut the fuck up asswipe," she snapped making him quail. "If you weren't such a loser maybe he wouldn't of thought we sucked."
In the dressing room Rosie was in a foul mood. The three musicians didn't dare say a word. Gareth began removing his shirt to get in the shower but stopped when she caught his eye. "For fuck's sake you selfish bastard," she snapped. "There's only one shower and you have to be the one to go first don't you?"
"I don't mind R-Rosie," he stuttered. "You can go first."
"Yeah right, like I'm going to get undressed in front of you perverts," she snapped with withering scorn, unable to conceal her contempt from them anymore. "This is what's going to happen pencil dick. You're all going home, I'm going to take a shower, and tomorrow we're going to have a long, serious chat about why the fuck you morons can't play in time."
"Um, Rosie. . ." Gareth was looking nervously over her shoulder.
She turned round and blushed again to the roots of her hair. "Mr Garvey!" In her three inch high heels Rosie was a fraction over six feet tall but still the black man towered over her. There was a faint smile playing on his lips and she was acutely conscious that if he looked down he'd be looking directly at her breasts.
"You're a hard woman," he said in a deep voice which made butterflies flutter in her stomach.
"Oh," she stuttered awkwardly. "They're used to it. Aren't you boys?"
The guys nodded.
"Well," Clifford said slowly, glancing at them. "I won't keep you young men."
They looked stunned. "You mean. .?"
"I mean I think you should go," he said patiently. "I wish to speak to your singer alone."
For a second Rosie thought Gareth was plucking up the courage to say something but they all grabbed their instruments and scuttled out of the door.
"You know what?" Clifford said after they'd gone. "You're a very talented, very beautiful woman. You really shouldn't be hanging around with those losers."
"I know," Rosie breathed. "But. . ."
"Have you eaten?" he asked casually. "I'm going round the corner to a little Chinese Restaurant I know. I thought you might like to come."
She had eaten but Rosie didn't miss a beat. "I'd love to," she quaked. "Thank you Mr Garvey."
"Clifford," he smiled, his eyes twinkling into hers, "Call me Clifford."
As they walked to the restaurant Rosie wished that she'd had the time to change. She felt incredibly exposed with nothing but the skimpy dress and a pair of high heels on. The night air was cool, making her nipples push outwards unmistakably. Clifford stopped by a discreet little restaurant she hadn't noticed before and courteously opened the door for her.
They were served immediately by a beautiful, petite Chinese waitress in a classic blue cocktail dress. She almost scurried to a polished black table in the corner, pulling out two chairs. "Mr Garvey?" she smiled anxiously. "So pleased to see you. Will it be the Château Rothschild as usual?"
"Make it the '69," he nodded. "I've a feeling I might have something to celebrate later."
"They know you here, then?" Rosie began politely as the waitress darted away.
"Of course they know me," he laughed his big, low laugh. "I own the place."
When the wine came he poured it out slowly. "That will be all for tonight Liu," he said to the waitress. "You can close up now."
