*Probably something disturbing in here. Just a default warning now.*
Faint sounds of a screaming horde reached Martin’s ears as he opened his dressing room door. Rolling his eyes, he cocked his head side to side and shrugged his shoulders a few times to loosen them. A door opened to his left and his sidekick stepped from her room.
“Hey, Martin,” Sheila said wearily. “You ready to do this?”
“Yeah. Let’s get it over with. These live shows are killing me.”
They chatted on their way to the stage. A cool blast of fresh air swept across them as they neared the open air coliseum, and the screaming fans became overwhelming. An opening act was just wrapping up and prancing offstage.
Martin eyed their goofy costumes down. Bright and colorful, they wore oversized bowties and sunglasses. Tremendous smiles pained their cheeks.
“Oh, man,” the lead singer yelled, obviously deafened by the loud music. “What a crowd!”
“Sure, sure,” Martin replied, and watched them walk away. The announcer came over the speakers.
“Heeeeeeeeeeeey, kids!” The crowd squealed collectively. “Are you ready for an adventure?”
“Let’s do this,” Sheila said. She fell into character and crept to the edge of the stage. She poked her head out as her mic flipped on and the crowd erupted in chaotic joy.
Three hours later, Martin and Sheila stood in the foyer of the venue, taking pictures and signing autographs for some lucky kids. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but there were still fifty kids to go who’d paid the extra money to meet the stars.
Finally, only one child remained. She approached them shyly, her cheeks flaring with red to accent her freckles. Her mother stood with a gentle hand on her hair, encouraging her forward. The woman was stunning, all sleek design and luscious curves. Martin let his eyes sweep across her in an appraisal, from her shiny brunette hair to the six inch stilettos topping off her lean legs.
He found the woman staring at him, a small smile playing at her lips. She leaned down to her daughter’s ear to whisper something, her shirt dangling low to reveal just enough cleavage to incite Martin’s imagination. He snapped back to reality as the child approached and extended a hand.
“Well, hello,” he said in a gentle voice. “What’s your name?”
“That’s a very pretty name, Michele. I’m Joe.”
She smiled and the floodgates opened. Her mother pried Michele away and grinned.
“Thanks,” she said. “We’re big fans of you guys.”
Martin stood and struggled to keep his eyes on her face. “We appreciate that. She’s adorable.”
“So are you.”
He blinked. “Ah…I’m glad you think so.” With a light chuckle, Martin stepped back.
The woman slipped him a piece of folded up paper and leaned closer. “Why don’t you call me later? I’d love to get more…acquainted before you leave town.”
He glanced down at the paper and then the ring on her finger. Taking it gingerly, he slipped the number into his pocket and smiled. “Have a safe trip home.”
Three hours passed in his dressing room staring at the little piece of paper with simple block numbers and a name: Marisa. He ran his fingers over it, considering. A married mother wanted him. He’d be back in California within two days and never have to see her again.
What could be the harm?
Before he could second guess, he dialed the number and listened to a song play in lieu of a ring. Something about a dead dog and lost love and sitting on a rocking chair lamenting life. Martin grimaced.
A breathy voice answered. “Hello?”
“Yes. Is this Joe?”
He rolled his eyes. She wanted the persona. Whatever. “Yeah, it’s Joe. Listen, why don’t you meet me at the Plaza in thirty minutes? Room four fifty two.”
She laughed softly, sending a chill across his skin. “You better be ready, sweetheart.”
When the knock came at his hotel room door thirty minutes later, he wavered for a moment. But the insistent soft pound forced him to open the door. Martin drew up, shocked at the sight in front of him.
Marisa stood in the hallway, soft incandescent lights caressing her pale skin beneath the splayed open trench coat. Black stilettos led to black hose, cut off at her thigh and held up by a garter attached to a leather bodice. She carried a bag and pushed him aside as she sashayed past.
“You going to stand there staring at me all night or close the door?”
Martin swallowed and closed the door behind him. Marisa set her bag on the table with her back turned to him. A soft smile playing at her lips, she looked over her shoulder.
“You like what you see?”
He nodded. She shed the trench coat, letting it fall to the floor at her feet, and turned. Her hands behind her back, she nodded towards the bed. He laid down obediently, lust and excitement burning through his veins.
Marisa pulled some ropes from behind her back and straddled his chest. “Lie back and relax, lover,” she whispered, tying off his hands and then his feet. His breath came in rapid spurts as she ran a bandana between his teeth and tied it off behind his head. Her manicured fingernails trailed down his bare chest as she slid off him. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this opportunity.”
Martin watched as she reached into her bag, wondering what sort of fun toys she brought with her. Maybe a feather or a small flogger. He’d like that.
When she turned to face him with a sharp and gleaming dagger, his eyes widened and the lust he felt turned to fear. In one hand, she held a dagger, its malicious point tapered and gleaming. In the other, a pizza cutter with a throwing star fashioned onto its wheel. Hysteria coursing into him, Martin shook his head and began to squirm under the tight bonds.
Marisa smiled. “That’s right, Joe. You’re going to die. The question is,” she said, looking between each instrument, “which of these do you prefer?”
The other superb flashers:
West Thornhill (m/m)
Chris Quinton (m/m)
Julie Hayes (m/m)
Lindsay Klug (m/f)
Victoria Blisse (m/f)
Heather Lin (m/f)
Freddy MacKay (m/m)
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
Elyzabeth M. VaLey (m/f) <<
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)