Scott 1

The guitarist's stare is mesmerizing. I know he's looking at the skinny blonde girl in front of me half-heartedly moving to the music (but not enough to mess up her hair), but just for a minute I pretend that fiery gaze is for me. I let it burn through to my core and try to imagine what thoughts are going through his mind. Do they match the furious, urgent melody he's playing? I allow myself to go further, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the bass line throb in my head, and picturing him (what was his name? Scott or Solomon or Sammy or something) alone with me somewhere dark, never breaking that intense eye contact as he shoves me down, pins my arms, and—

"Fuck!" I gasp as cold wet liquid penetrates the front of my shirt. The blonde has spilled her beer on me. She gives a drunken, apologetic smile and turns back forward. The opening band, including beautiful Scott, is gone, and she has her sights set on the rail up front where she can maybe catch the eye of the headlining lead singer later. I join the bulk of the crowd heading away from the stage to the dimly-lit bar and the less-than-hygienic bathrooms to try and wring some of the beer out of my shirt.

The line for the bathroom is insane. I decide the alley outside is just as suitable for shirt-wringing and get my hand stamped at the door on the way out. After I have made a small puddle of Bud Light on the concrete I stay for a moment, enjoying the cool night air after the stifling heat in the concert hall. I start dabbing at my shirt with the stack of napkins I nicked from the bar. My bra is lamentably thin and the cold wet fabric is making my nipples pucker up.

His voice, slow and deep, makes me jump. "You're missing the show."

I whip around, away from the street, to see Scott leaning against the brick wall smoking a cigarette. I casually lean against the wall too so he won't notice that I lost my balance. God, how can he have this effect on me just by looking at me?

"Yeah, well I really just came for the opener."

He chuckles. "Are you kidding? They suck."

I raise an eyebrow and speak in a conspiratorial tone. "Maybe, but their guitarist is hot." I can't believe what I'm saying. I'm acting like some stupid teenage groupie.

Unsmiling, he flicks away his cigarette and puts it out under his boot without dropping his gaze from mine. Then he takes two quick steps forward and crushes me against the wall. He grabs my long hair with one hand, pulling my head to one side, and his mouth descends to my neck. His hardness presses insistently against me through our clothes.

This is too much for me. I don't even know this guy, and someone could walk by any minute. I immediately regret what I said and try to push him off so I can go back inside where there are lots of people around.

He stops, but doesn't loosen his grip on my hair. His eyes narrow and search mine. His voice is quiet. "That was a mistake, you little fucking tease." He is pure, barely controlled testosterone.

He quickly turns me around and wraps one arm around my chest, pinning my arms, and the other hand around my face, stifling my sudden shrieks for help and covering my nose so I can't draw breath for more. He lifts me two inches off the ground this way and carries me to the building's side door, which apparently he came out of for his post-set smoke break. I am unable to land a good kick on his shins before he backs into a room off the hallway and kicks the door shut. He pushes me down onto the carpet and straddles my stomach, pinning my elbows down with his knees. Now that we are inside, behind the stage, the main band's songs are louder than my voice. Scott gags me anyway, with a towel from the counter within his reach. I look around and realize this must be one of the backstage rooms for the performers.

He looks hungrily at my ample chest and I realize my nipples are still erect. He begins to lightly caress them through the shirt and a whimper escapes from behind my gag. I feel his erection against my stomach. I try to convince myself it is pure terror that makes me squirm under him and make high, soft noises in my throat.

He lets up on my arms with his knees but immediately captures my wrists in his hands and uses them to twist me onto my stomach. He grabs a belt from a pile of clothes on the floor next to the couch and ties my hands together behind my back. He drags me over to the couch and straddles me again, sitting on my thighs. Now that he can take his time, he savors it. With a devilish grin he slowly drags the hem of my shirt up. He pulls it until the whole thing is over my head and behind my neck. His fingers leave trails of fire on my skin as they move around my sides to my back, where he locates my bra and deftly unclasps it, pulling the whole thing up to join my shirt. Now in addition to my wrists being bound together, my elbows are trapped by all that fabric, making my back arch and my now-naked breasts push forward. I haven't felt so vulnerable in a long time.

His eyes are almost feral now. They flash fire as he leans forward to engulf my left nipple in his mouth. His nimble fingers knead the other one. By now I am not struggling. He probably thinks I am just trying to get this over with so I can go home. In reality my movements are thick with lust, my thoughts of fighting back drowned out by the throbbing of my clit. His tongue swirls around the nipple. He draws it taut between his teeth before letting it go. He growls deeply, sending a shiver through me, and begins suckling the other nipple and fumbling at my belt. Soon his fingers are sliding down, further, further, until one slides a little too easily between my nether lips and his face registers surprise. He studies my face again. I realize I am blushing furiously. What am I thinking? This is rape! This is illegal and immoral! He's the one who should be embarrassed, not me!

He has a knowing smile now as his fingers double their efforts. The music's driving beat seems to guide his actions. My jeans and panties are on the floor in a matter of seconds. He flips me over and lays me lengthwise so that my face is pushed into the couch and my ass is in the air. I can tell what's coming by the way the weight shifts on the cushions behind me but it still makes me jump when his tongue lands on my clit and slides up, up, almost to my asshole. He repeats this for what seems like forever. Soon he starts to focus on the clit, moving in ever-narrowing circles around it. When he finally flicks his tongue directly back and forth over it, I almost come. I feel weight shifting again and suddenly something that is hot and hard and unmistakably a cock is pushing against me. I barely have time to register this before he pushes all the way inside in one long stroke. I scream into the towel, which seems to make him lose his cool; he starts slamming into me with abandon, grabbing my wrists with one hand for leverage and effectively pulling my torso up. My nipples start to roughly graze the cushions as I am jerked back and forth by the force of his hips. His balls are slapping against my clit. I silently curse him for seeming to know what my favorite position is and give in to the orgasm washing over me. My pussy contracts and expands around his cock; he comes as well, digging his fingers into my round asscheeks so hard I think he's going to break the skin.

When it's over, he lets go of my wrists and I collapse. I hear him still breathing heavily. He unbuckles the belt and I slowly work my hands free. I sit up and remove the towel from my mouth.

"Did you have to use this piece of crap? Next time have a ball gag handy or something."

"Sorry," he answers with a sheepish grin. "Ready for round two?"

I eye his still-rock-solid cock. "At least lock the door first. Last time I thought Tim was going to have a nervous breakdown when he walked in on us."

He does.