tossed him a playful look of disapproval. "Devon knows me. I swear. Just go ask him yourself."
He snorted through a hairy framed mouth like a pig. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, expanding his massive shoulders and thick neck. His smoky brown eyes gawked at her chest.
She swallowed hard— plan B it is then .
"Okay, so how does this work?" She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. Her emerald green eyes sparkled in the mild glow of the overhead streetlight. "I get on my knees and suck your dick?"
The security guard's eyebrow rose. She moved closer to him before she reached down, just in time to feel the bulge in his pants grow. Typical male asshole , she thought, doesn't take much . She fell to her knees out in the open air. This, unfortunately, now seemed like her only hope of getting backstage, where she needed to be, behind the scenes of Black Inversion and alone with Devon Illes.
Pulling on his zipper made little sound with the busy street so close. She knew the stunt was risky being so close to the front of the club where all the people were. It was a definite gamble for sure, but she was out of options. Shutting the thoughts from her mind, she pulled out his manhood, revealing it to the open air as it throbbed like mad in her hand. The revulsion she felt made her dizzy, but she had to push on. This, she knew, was unfortunately the only hope of getting in. Of all the dubious and insalubrious acts she'd committed over the years, this degradation still made her ill. Despite her growing toleration, it was a necessary evil.
The hired thug grunted as her mouth and tongue glided over his cock, drenching it with her spit. His breathing went ragged and his hands gripped the sides of her head. With his constant rocking motion, she sucked him off, a guaranteed pass backstage rife with its usual lesson in humility. Before long, he was panting and grunting, moving his hips in time with her. She worked over his tool with her lips and tongue until he spilled his seed into her warm, waiting mouth. Disgusted, she did her best to contain his load until she could bring herself to swallow the evidence. Grateful for his lack of staying power, an obvious force of masturbatory habit, she rose to her feet and waited for her "payment", entrance to her destiny. First obstacle overcame. She wiped off her chin and walked as proudly as she could by the guard as he held the door open for her with a nod and a smile.
H e had a gripping sense of apprehension that something was going to happen, something that remained unknown—on the outskirts of his conscience.
Nevertheless, he confined himself to the dressing room behind the stage, relaxing like he did after every show while the others wasted their time outside talking to the masses, making the followers happy. No matter what, he knew that those fans belonged to him now. The music, the lyrics to the songs, their message commanded that they be faithful to the cause, bound to him. He'd finished what he came here for; let the others use their own time spreading the word. He chose to take it easy before shipping out for the next show, the next mass.
He dropped onto the couch, the angry groan of the frame resounding through the room. Devon Illes lifted his feet up onto the cushion, his spiked pads and face paint put away for the night. Underneath the painted smears of white lay a rugged, yet handsomely chiseled, face. Reminiscing about the show and all the new followers added to his legions brought a smile to his face, almost locking out the knot of wariness in his gut. Let the pieces fall where they may, as always, destiny helmed his existence. Though he needed no sleep, he felt his eyes close and his mind find a comfortable state of being.
Knock. Knock.
His eyes opened with a sudden jolt. Swinging his legs onto the floor, he sat upright and cursed the security guard's lack of understanding orders. "I told that fat son-of-a-bitch not to let anyone
He snorted through a hairy framed mouth like a pig. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, expanding his massive shoulders and thick neck. His smoky brown eyes gawked at her chest.
She swallowed hard— plan B it is then .
"Okay, so how does this work?" She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. Her emerald green eyes sparkled in the mild glow of the overhead streetlight. "I get on my knees and suck your dick?"
The security guard's eyebrow rose. She moved closer to him before she reached down, just in time to feel the bulge in his pants grow. Typical male asshole , she thought, doesn't take much . She fell to her knees out in the open air. This, unfortunately, now seemed like her only hope of getting backstage, where she needed to be, behind the scenes of Black Inversion and alone with Devon Illes.
Pulling on his zipper made little sound with the busy street so close. She knew the stunt was risky being so close to the front of the club where all the people were. It was a definite gamble for sure, but she was out of options. Shutting the thoughts from her mind, she pulled out his manhood, revealing it to the open air as it throbbed like mad in her hand. The revulsion she felt made her dizzy, but she had to push on. This, she knew, was unfortunately the only hope of getting in. Of all the dubious and insalubrious acts she'd committed over the years, this degradation still made her ill. Despite her growing toleration, it was a necessary evil.
The hired thug grunted as her mouth and tongue glided over his cock, drenching it with her spit. His breathing went ragged and his hands gripped the sides of her head. With his constant rocking motion, she sucked him off, a guaranteed pass backstage rife with its usual lesson in humility. Before long, he was panting and grunting, moving his hips in time with her. She worked over his tool with her lips and tongue until he spilled his seed into her warm, waiting mouth. Disgusted, she did her best to contain his load until she could bring herself to swallow the evidence. Grateful for his lack of staying power, an obvious force of masturbatory habit, she rose to her feet and waited for her "payment", entrance to her destiny. First obstacle overcame. She wiped off her chin and walked as proudly as she could by the guard as he held the door open for her with a nod and a smile.
H e had a gripping sense of apprehension that something was going to happen, something that remained unknown—on the outskirts of his conscience.
Nevertheless, he confined himself to the dressing room behind the stage, relaxing like he did after every show while the others wasted their time outside talking to the masses, making the followers happy. No matter what, he knew that those fans belonged to him now. The music, the lyrics to the songs, their message commanded that they be faithful to the cause, bound to him. He'd finished what he came here for; let the others use their own time spreading the word. He chose to take it easy before shipping out for the next show, the next mass.
He dropped onto the couch, the angry groan of the frame resounding through the room. Devon Illes lifted his feet up onto the cushion, his spiked pads and face paint put away for the night. Underneath the painted smears of white lay a rugged, yet handsomely chiseled, face. Reminiscing about the show and all the new followers added to his legions brought a smile to his face, almost locking out the knot of wariness in his gut. Let the pieces fall where they may, as always, destiny helmed his existence. Though he needed no sleep, he felt his eyes close and his mind find a comfortable state of being.
Knock. Knock.
His eyes opened with a sudden jolt. Swinging his legs onto the floor, he sat upright and cursed the security guard's lack of understanding orders. "I told that fat son-of-a-bitch not to let anyone
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