by Dixon Carter Lee ©
This story
was split into 3 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
1|2|3
Note: This story
was originally submitted as one long story
and it was only broken into 3 parts for faster page loading.
"Hurry! GOD!" she squealed, sure that someone would walk in at any moment. "Huh-huh-huh!" she breathed, getting close. I wanted to send her over the edge, and I knew just how to do it.
Reaching out I flung the door wide open. Bonnie's pussy squeezed my cock in terror. Down the hallway, in plain view, we could see a waitress, smoking near the kitchen.
"Gawwwwwwwwd!" she grunted, her whole body shuddering, cumming hard.
At that same moment I could hear Jazzy Girl's sultry voice booming from the club. Her throaty singing thrilled me to the core, and I blew a load of thick, creamy in the girl's quivering cunt.
We froze in orgasm, spasming together, nails digging into flesh. Both our eyes were on the waitress, who had finished her cigarette and was straightening her apron, getting ready to get back to work. At any moment she would turn around and see us.
"Ah...Oh..!" she groaned, unable to speak. Still in the middle of her climax she ripped her hands out of the guitar string, slipped out from under me and, and just as the waitress was about to turn around, slammed the door shut. She lay with her back against the door, her legs shaking, her pussy wet and exposed and dripping on the dirty stockroom tile floor.
I finished spilling on the floor, wiping up the cum with a loose piece of newspaper. I pulled up my pants and sat next to her, waiting for her "come back".
"Okay," she said, still breathless, "that is definitely going in my diary."
"Mine too." I said, suddenly aware of what an animal I just was. We laughed together for a few minutes, waiting for her orgasm to finish.
"What's your name?" I asked when she stopped shaking.
"Bonnie. Oh shit, why am I giving you my real name?" she laughed nervously. "Freddy, right?"
"Right."
"Freddy, sweetheart, you are...that was incredible. I don't think I can walk."
"Stupid question to ask now," I said, "but are you, you know, on anything?"
"Yes." she said. "Another not so stupid question -- Are you, you know, okay..?"
"I gave blood a few months ago," I said, "and everything's fine. There hasn't been anybody since. How about you?"
She paused. "You're only my second man. The other one is okay, he was a virgin and..." She got all embarrassed and stopped to bury her face in her hands. "I don't do this." she said, laughing nervously.
"Well, maybe you should." I said. "You're really good at it."
She laughed again, and threw her arms around me. "Musicians!" she said. "God!"
I retrieved her panties, which she quickly grabbed and slipped on with a surprising modesty considering the wild fucking we'd just done.
"Help me up?" she said.
We put ourselves together as best we could.
"I don't suppose you want my number, do you?" she asked. "And do you think I can sound any more pathetic?"
"You could." I said, "Try it with a whine."
"I don't suppose you want my number, do you?" she said with a nasal whine. "You're not going to call me are you? Are you? Are yoooooooooou?"
I couldn't stop laughing at this girl. She had a great sense of humor.
"Oh, I'll call you." I said. "I know where we can go tomorrow."
"Oh yeah? Where?"
"The Pitcher's Mound at Yankee Stadium-"
"Shut up!" she giggled. Yeah, she actually giggled.
We laughed a bit more, then she gave me a soft, wet kiss. "Mmm." she sighed. "I can still smell you." She rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling. "What have you done to me? Goddamned jazz singers. You're probably an asshole or married or - oh God, listen to me, I'm talking like a girlfriend." She handed me a card from her office and scribbled her home number on the back. "Freddy, sweetie, call me. Or don't call me. Whatever."
"You're not leaving?"
"Oh yes I am. I've been -- good Christ -- bad enough for one night. Call me if you want."
"I want."
"Good." she said, with just a hint of guilt on her face. "I think it's good."
She kissed me once more and stepped out the door.
I finished cleaning myself up and stepped out a few minutes later. Bonnie had disappeared, along with the thick neck boyfriend.
I took a seat at a back table and listened to the rest of Jazzy Girl's set. She was doing a hot number, really sweating up a storm and wailing like a hell-fire Gospell singer, her hands thrusting around randomly like a wilder (!) Janis Joplin. Damn me if she wasn't on fire. The crowd was loving her, and clapped along and stomped their feet and suddenly it was like we were in a Tennessee tent revival meeting. "Yeee-ha!" someone shouted, and the crowd cheered him and whooped and danced around the crowded club, smashing elbows and knees.
What a frenzy! And Julie was the most frantic of all. During a drum break she closed her eyes and jerked and rocked in place, the mike stand squeezed tightly between her legs. She pressed the stand harder and harder against her pubic bone, and from the pinched, delirious look on her face I swear she was masturbating with it. (Holy God! Maybe that was her in the hallway!) She humped the pole for a solid five minutes, one hand holding her mike close to her chest (was she fondling herself?), until finally the sax player took over, and with that release she spasmed and shook (as if cumming) on stage in front of 300 screaming fans.
The applause was deafening. Jazzy Girl had to be pulled off the floor, where she had collapsed, by the sax player. "Encore! Encore!" screamed the crowd, but the band disappeared into the back, their last set finished, and couldn't be coaxed back out.
"Fucking tremendous." I thought. "Abso-fucking-lutely tremendous." I felt like I had found my soul again. Jesus Christmas what a night! I felt seriously rejuvenated, and somehow that made me sleepy. "Good night." I said to myself, yawning, looking forward to a deep sleep. (Thank you, thank you, Moon God.)
So I tipped the bartender, gave Fat Harvey a slap on the back ("Looking good there, Harv'!") and pushed my way outside. As I hit the sidewalk I heard someone call me.
"Hey, you."
It was Jazzy Girl and the band. They had rushed out, sans instruments, presumably to look for me. "Listen," she said, still sweating and panting from her set, "what are you doing tomorrow night? Pete's got some damn thing tomorrow," said Julie, "What the hell was it again, Pete?"
Pete, the keyboard player, looked at her like she was crazy. "I've told you ten times you lunatic woman. I'm having laser surgery on my eyes."
"Right." said Julie. "He's having his eyes burnt off."
The band laughed.
"So," said Julie, "tomorrow night..."
She was interrupted by the sax player, who stepped forward, thrusting out a big hand. He was a good looking guy with biceps you could see through his leather coat. "Listen, I'm Dean." he said. "This Pete, Tyler and Julie."
Julie.
Jazzy Girl.
And Dean had his arm around her.
So. She was taken. "We loved your set, man." said Dean.
"Back at you." I said.
"Anyway", said Pete, "They need someone to cover for me tomorrow. Just one set at 9:30. I can make the second set at 10:30."
"It's at the Gate." said Tyler, the drummer, a tubby little guy with a goatee. "Nothing fancy, we've got sheet music. And you can do some of your own stuff. Anything original is cool."
"Actually," I said, pulling out my lyric sheet, "I've got something new for you." I handed the lyrics to Julie, who had retreated when Dean stepped forward.
"For me?" she said.
"That song you did," I continued, "'Baltimore Taxi', you called it. I don't know, the tune was snappy, funky, but the lyrics seemed too downtown, too all out bluesy. It seemed like a lighter piece, so I worked up a few new lyrics."
"You re-wrote my song?" said Julie.
Her song? Oops.
"Not too much." I said. "I mean, ya' know, there was some good stuff..." I stammered, trying to get my foot out of my mouth. But Julie wouldn't have it.
"Nah. Can't get out of it." she mocked. "I can't write lyrics for shit, I know that. So, you did this tonight? At the bar?"
"Yep."
"'Kay. I'll check it out." she said, looking the sheet over. "What's this title?"
"Jazzy Girl." I said.
"Thanks." she said, giving me a curious, sideways look. I swear she was checking me out.
Dean grabbed her little tighter around the shoulder and said, "So - tomorrow night? You interested? Pays fifty."
"Fifty bucks? Sure." I said. "I can eat tomorrow. Bonus."
"Cool." he said, "Get there around nine, we'll be all set up."
We all said goodnight and separated. Julie turned back to me, though, her hand in Dean's back pocket. "And bring your girlfriend!" she said with a mischievous look in her eyes.
I wondered about that moment in the stockroom when I though someone was in the hallway. Wasn't it right before someone said, "C'mon, Julie."? Dammit! Was she watching us? Did it turn her on? Is that why she was so passionate on stage later?
Let's just say I was looking forward to the next evening.
So I walked home, but went past my street without thinking. I didn't know where I was going until I hit Seventh Avenue where I could see the moon, and I realized now that I was looking for it. A funny mood had come over me. I didn't recognize it at first, and then it hit me -- I was happy.
The moon was lower in the sky now, dipping beneath the steel towers downtown, but still as orange, still as full, still as magical. I tipped an imaginary hat in thanks to the mystic orb, yawned a dreamy yawn, and headed home to bed.
This story
was split into 3 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
1|2|3
Note: This story
was originally submitted as one long story
and it was only broken into 3 parts for faster page loading.