tagGroup SexKaraoke Idol

Karaoke Idol

bytristantrotsky©

Dear Shell,

you're probably wondering what's been going on since I last wrote. You might well ask. You know me. You should do by now. You know what I'm like. Do you remember, that night in the wine-bar? Those guys watching us from across the alcove? Then one of them comes across.

'Didn't I see you last weekend in that Club?' he says.

'What Club?' I say.

'Aren't you the Pole-Dancer at that new Club?' he says with a grin. And it cracks you up. You thought he was really cute. But I mean, what a witty guy! What a great line! It must have been around that time I got to thinking – is this it? Is this what it's come down to? Some dumb chat-up line Saturday night in Batley. When you think how we used to read those Celeb-mags and make plans. Well, I guess you could say – finally, I'm on my way. What else can you do, do you sit around talking about it, or do something to make it happen?

Karaoke. Those nights at the 'Fiddler's Elbow'. You remember that Karaoke Idol competition? It's no big deal, but win that and it's a step up to the regional finals. And I'm going to win. I've made sure I'm going to win. There is no Plan B. Tomorrow is on a promise. You've seen those videos on CD-GB, those slappers fronting the dance-mash-ups. They can't sing. They don't need to. They know it, we know it. All you've got to do is get noticed. All you need is to get a profile. And if you cheat to win, well, sometimes you've just got to do it. It shows how determined you are, right? And I'm determined. So I'm at the 'Fiddler's Elbow' feeding Lou lines, dropping about a zillion hints about how I'd do just anything-kissy-kissy to win that regional elimination heat. And the way I play it he eventually picks up what I mean. He's slow, but he gets there in the end. A disgusting leer. A vile guy. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. And he's up for a bribe. The thing is, you don't know him, I do. I know him better than I should.

He takes a sideways glance to check out Elaine's not there, and leads the way down into the cellar. Straight-way he's got me up against these barrels, my shoulder-straps flipped down and he's slobbering all over my boobs. Pretty unpleasant, sure, but I can deal with it. Then he stands back, unzips and flips it out like he's some kinda King Dong, and he does this 'show me how much you want to win' number. Its single eye winking at me as he wanks it up and down with his fist, priming it for my attentions. Well, Shell, it's nothing I've not done before. When it comes to cock-gobbling I was an early-starter – like I told you about that first-time experience of going-down, with that boy in Movieworld? Back then I was so naïve and scared I didn't know you were supposed to swallow it, and walked all the way through the multiplex to the Ladies with a mouthful of spunk, to spit it out. I know better now.

'You can really fix it for me to win?' I coo up at him.

'Sure, not a problem' he gulps, nervous now 'it's up to you, your decision'. So I go down on it like it's the one thing I most want to do in the world. All yummy-yum slurpy-slurp. It smells a bit stale, but then again, pheromones are in the air. That can be a turn-on. He starts into breathing funny and grunting, his gut flexing in and out making those fat balls of his sway backwards and forwards bumping into my chin. Guess Lou's not used to having his cock sucked, guess that stingy cow Elaine don't do it for him, poor sod, no wonder he's such an evil bastard! But – although I say it myself, everyone's good at just one thing in life, and this is mine. With my oral technique, I could make a dead man come.

Well, I'm sucking him for, what seems like ten hours, then there's this voice from the top of the cellar-stairs. His wife. 'What you doing down there making such a row?'

And he says, quick as you like, 'I'm just heaving this load'.

And that really kills me, 'cos he was, if you get my meaning. I was nearly choking, half on laughing, and half on... well, you know what. Never thought an older guy could come so much! But he does. I don't want to stain my dress, even though it's scrunched up around my waist, and it seems such bad manners to spit on his floor (after all, it's valuable stuff, they pay for it down at the Sperm Bank!), so... I can't believe I'm writing all this down, you'll thinks I'm so like a strumpet. But then you know that already.

We've had times, you and me, right? Anyway, he yells loud up to her 'I'm coming, one minute'. Which he is. And when he's finally finished he whips it out of my gob, wipes it on his hanky, zips up, and does this 'shhhhh' finger-across-the-lips motion at me, then he's on his way back up the steps, out the cellar, locking the door behind him! And I'm stuck down there for what must be two hours, until the coast is clear and Elaine's out the way. Well, a girl's got to make the best of bad situation, I find some racks of wine down there, and help myself. Well, I got something to celebrate, don't I? I get an 'A' for effort. This is stage one accomplished. That 'Karaoke Idol' title's as good as mine. So best 'till next time.

Love 'n' stuff, your bestest friend, Chas xxx



Dear Shell,

not heard from you for a while. I'm here pouring out all the intimate details of my private life and leg-overs, and you don't even write back. But who would have thought it, eh? So much has happened, some good, some... less good. Here goes. We were out Clubbing Saturday, you were there to start with – right? I know what it's like for you, you've got that snuggly-warm domestic live-in scene with Tariq. You do quality-time with Scooby-snacks by the telly. But I'm still free to do what I like with whoever I like, so you won't realise that later on I pull BIG TIME! Yeah – wait for it... only MC Z (that's 'Z' as in 'Zee', not as in 'Zed')! Impressed? You should be. He was guesting there and we, sort of, connect. It seems so right. Some things are hard to remember, but I'm thinking of him now, he's all black pimp-shoes and style. Not that I'm impressed by bling – well, alright, I am, I have to admit it. Can't believe my luck. OK, so I'm a mess, but I can be one hell of a sexy mess when I put my mind to it. But I'm looking good, and I'm all over him like a duvet.

You know, when you're hot you're hot, and we're so hot for each other I'm aching for him. We slink off down to the toilets together, me hoping against hope my deodorant won't let me down. First cubicle a girl is face down throwing up into the bowl. Hey, we've all had nights like that! Next cubicle, two guys, the one crouching down doing to the other what I intend doing to Z! Third one is locked with odd biological noises coming from inside. Then a free one, and even before we're inside I've already got my thong tugged off and into my bag, clenching my pelvic floor in anticipation. Hey, I'm a healthy adult, I've got appetites. We suck tongues, and I hike him out. Stand back Captain Ahab, call off the search – I've found my Moby Dick! And I'm so moist for it I must squelch every time I move. He's easing me over, gentle-like, but persistent, like he wants it from behind. No problemo.

So I'm firming my hands on the bowl and sticking my ass up ready, legs wide. Just for a moment I'm wary which entrance he's going to take. I'm in an-access-all areas position. Then, as he eases it in, long inch by long inch, I'm past caring. It slithers in all the way, so good it has my pussy purring. I can see me in the circle of bog-water. You ever seen the expressions on your own face when you're being given a really good seeing to? Guess not. Not unless your snuggle-bunny Tariq has a thing about mirrors. Which I doubt. Monogamy don't rhyme with monotony for nothing. This is raw, spontaneous. Remember what that's like? I see me biting my lip, my face screwed up, my mouth pursed and blowing, then wide and gaping, grunting like an animal, head down, then head rearing up, going jerk jerkity-jerk with every deep thrust. Until – all too soon, he's spurt-spurting all that lovely gooey white stuff into me as we go into a mutual liquid knee-trembling meltdown.

I'm thinking, is that it – my tits are my best features and he's not even groped them yet? Should I have held out for more? But I stick as close as if we're velcro'd together. He's telling me he's got industry-contacts he can put my way. AlthoughI know damn well he won't. He's giving me all this 'you should make a video' shit, saying it like you'd think he was doing me a massive favour. But I act stupid like I'm hung up on every word. And my star-signs must be with me. Inevitably, we wind up back at his hotel slobbering wine off each other's tongues, getting each other's clothes off faster, with an urgency like there's not enough time in the world to do all the things we want to do to each other's bodies.

I mean, I don't judge a guy by cock-size. I'm not that shallow. Not quite. But it's like, I'm sure a guy can be content in a loving relationship with a flat-chested girl. But every now and then he's got to wonder what it's like to shag a girl with really big tits. It's only natural. And it must be the same with us. Sometimes you just want big pussy-stretching dick, don't you? He's eminently qualified. And more, he has an educated tongue. His tongue lapping so far up my pussy I can feel it behind my belly-bar. My mouth so full of his balls I can scarcely breathe. Doing it here, there, just about everywhere. I'm sat on his face – wriggling my clit on his nose, then sat impaled on his dick, doing vigorous aerobic up-and-downs on it, the best and only kind of pole-dancing I'm into, making sure he's watching my boobs bounce as I do it... you don't want to know this – well, perhaps you do? here's enough tease to ease a smile into your drab drone of a life, but I'm so completely out of control, must have come a squillion times until my lady-parts are sore – tingling, but glowing.

Next thing I'm aware of, it's something like 2am. You know what it's like when you wake up and you've got the taste of cum and sweat in your throat, and a pubic hair stuck between your teeth? Sure you do. So I'm padding out the bedroom barefoot all over – well, I've got hold-up stockings on, he wanted me to leave them on, and I'm schlepping towards the loo, tonguing that elusive pube, when I notice his laptop sat there on the table, a low glow tells me it's still on. I flip it open, shouldn't have. But this is so totally different. Tap the pad to life. No need even for his password 'cos it's on sleep-mode. First I just decide to put myself into his address-book. Soon done. Sure, I know the one-night-stand rules, he had a different girl riding him yesterday, it'll be another tomorrow. But this night it's me and I want to be remembered, I've got a need to be the best. So, just in case...but soon I'm sat there x-legged scrolling through his emails, tapping from his address-book into my mobile. Noting this. Noting that.

One says 'GameSoft'. I know 'GameSoft', it's a unit on that Business Park up past Kirkstall. So I open it. It says 'Need a foxy babe for new CGi 'Lana Craft'. Is Sharon available?' There's a date and time. It takes me less than a moment. In this life you don't get time off for good behaviour. You've got to go for it full-on. I can be inspired when I need to be. So I hit reply. Type in 'Sharon out of town. Sending Chas instead, she's super-hot'. I look at it, add a second 'hot', then one in caps – 'HOT', plus an exclamation mark, then two more. And 'send'. I smile, and back to bed.

Anyway, after a breakfast coffee he heads off with 'I'll do this for you' but both knowing he won't, and I go the other way. It's then I notice the forgotten public hair's still there, between my teeth. I extract it carefully, wrap it in a wet-wipe and stow it in my bag. MC Z. Perhaps I can auction it on the internet? What do you think? Anyway, it's Karaoke night at the 'Fiddlers'. My big night. Ha-bloody-ha. I do "Can't Get You Out Of My Head" and to tell you the truth, I'm almost good. You say that, people never believe you, but I am. And Lou's there, watching. But when he gets to read out the winner – through into the regional finals, it's this other slapper! I can't begin to tell you what kind of hair she's got, and sure – she's a good two years younger than me, and about fifty times better, true. But I get Lou in the corner after and I'm spoiling for a fight.

'I thought we had an agreement' I tells him.

'She made me a better offer' he shrugs with a leering grin, 'try me again next time?'

I'm seething. I feel bad. But I don't feel much like discussing that part of it. It's not too good a feeling. Don't ever go there. It'll freak you out. So when I go I make sure I leave my knickers, still body-warm and body-fluid moist in his jacket-pocket where I'm certain Elaine will find them. Backatcha! But, mad or not, lessons are there for the learning. This is going to work out well, if only to spite that pervy old git, Lou. 'Cos I've got a mobile full of half-inched numbers.

Stay tuned, Shell, I'll be getting back to you on this, your mate – Chas.

PS – how's your dear old Mum?



Hi Shell,

still no word from you. Too snuggled-up cosy in your love-nest I'll bet. Well – I hope you've got everything you need to make you happy. Because me, I'm out of this town. I've got places to go. Things to do. Problem is, those creeps trying to get off with me up in the wine-bar with the cheap chat-up line almost had it right. I could have been a pole-dancer. No bragging, but I've got the body for it. And let's face it, that's all I've got. No other talent worth a toss. When you wake up on those cold hung-over mornings and look at yourself in the mirror, you know that this is all you've got. This is it. Sometimes it scares you. I see those pram-faces on the estate. Will I end up like that? And it scares you. Absolutely.

So live the dream, I can do it. I can make it work for me. But why get my tits out for thirty drunks in Batley when I can do it on-screen? That's not a problem. So, before you know it, I'm there at 'GameSoft', telling them MC Z sent me. It's a big unit. Lots of high-tech equipment, computers and stuff. Guy called Niall shows me in, polite and considerate as you like, gives me a filter-coffee. Upstairs there's some cameras and a couple of techie-geekoids. A big blue-screen.

'So what now?'

Niall explains, 'we're doing the new porno computer-game Lana Craft, we do it digitally. You saw Gollum in that Tolkien movie? That's what we're doing here. We put sensors on your body, you act out the role in front of the blue-screen which creates an action body-map we use to animate Lana's movements'. I don't even know what I mean by that, but I'm sure I mean it.

'So it's not actually me?'

'Not exactly. Like Gollum, you don't see the guy who body-maps for him, except in the DVD bonus-features. So if you'd care to undress...?' As I take my clothes off – and I'm not wearing a lot, he goes through the plot-line. An Egyptian tomb. Lana discovers two embalmed bodies. She revives them with a little... er, oral-genital stimulation. They've been dead four-thousand years so they've got a lot of pent-up sexual energy. Stands to reason. And she's a warm-hearted girl, so she generously does this spit-roasting scene with them. Some in-out here, some in-out there. Do you have a problem with that?'

What is it they say for the movies? 'Is it integral to the story?'

'Of course it's integral to the story, that is the story.'

'Well, that's cool, I'm so totally ready – I guess three's my lucky number.' By now I'm naked, the floor chill on my bare feet, and it feels creepy when he starts fixing these electrode-thingys on me, one here, one there, even one there. For a moment it seems my pussy-fluff's a problem. (I make a mental note, next time – a Brazilian wax! shit, I've not done this before and I'm already thinking about the next time!). But I mean, how can you ever tell about stuff like that? You can't.

Niall looks across at the geekoid on the monitor 'shouldn't it be shaved', no, he shakes his head, it'll be alright. It feels weird stood there with nothing but these probes taped onto me, but on-screen you can see me moving around as a kind of horoscope-constellation of luminous stars. Then there are two guys, like me... in the state of nature, so pleased to see me – it's achingly obvious, only shaved, and horny as hell. That makes them look, almost tasty. Isn't science wonderful? If I had any reservations before – which to be honest, I didn't, they just dissolve. And we go through the story, exaggerating every action. They're supposed to be dead. They stand there like statues, but believe you-me, they don't need too much resurrecting! A liquid lick here, a slurpy suck there, and whaddya know – two stiffs, with stiffs! And with much 'hold it there, can we go through that again, bend over, put it in, take it out, turn around, now the other cock, part your legs just a little wider'. Spit-roasting they call it, don't they? Double the pleasure, double the fun?

And almost too soon it's all over and done. Niall shakes me by the hand, and writes out a cheque for more ker-ching than I've ever earned in a month. And you know Shell, the weirdest thing is that in a month or so it's going to be on screens all over the country, and I'll be a cyberbabe operated by boy-toy joy-sticks. Me! But there's even more yet, couple of days later there's a text from Z. 'Impressed. You put one over on me. GameSoft well-pleased'.

Crazier. He picks me up, we go to a video-shoot in the kind of big house you only usually get to see on 'Footballer's Wives'. Awesome. The film-crew are there to do a promo for Rapper Fifty-Euro. You've see him on heavy-rotation on satellite. So now – I'm in his new video! It's cut-up with lots of fast-edits, you've got to pay attention to pick me out. But I'm there, in the Jacuzzi-pool scene. Lots of model-types are strewn about in gold bikinis and high-heels, mirror-shades and tight tight thongs up big sassy studio-tan polished-butts. Oodles of sweeties too, you know? Full make-up crew teasing my hair and lippy. I could live this for real.

Anyway, pretty soon we're in the Jacuzzi, Fifty-Euro giving it with the Rap, me to his right (I'm miming along, it's part of MC Z's white-label set so I know the words), this other girl draped around him to his left. I realise early on I've got a lot of competition, that brings out the exhibitionist in me, I have to work that bit harder to be the centre of attention. You can't see it, but under the bubbles I'm feeling up his lock stock and barrel, and is it smoking! Once he's finished his Rap they keep filming – for the un-cut 'adult' version. My top's gone adrift somewhere. The other girl's sucking my nipples and you know what that does to me (you should, remember that holiday in Falariki where we decided to give up on love-cheating men and try to be lesbians, and we almost make it through the weekend?).

And I get intimately acquainted with that smoking barrel I told you about earlier, clear up to the hilt. I have to use two hands just to encircle it... is that tweaking your interest yet? You want more...? Have you ever fucked in swirling water? – it's a wonderful lubricant, and with three of us trading syrupy tongue-kisses and probing penetrations, fingers, tongues, cock, I lose track of who's doing what to who. You know that thing about 'balls like a stallion'? well, he's got 'em. He shags me while she's sucking my nipples, then he shags her while I'm sucking her nipples. And yes, even though he's glistening-smooth naked, he still wears his bling-bling medallion and shades throughout!

Later I'm back at the hotel with Z, chilling out, when the mobile trills. A guy on the 'phone. You know Simon Coverall, the 'Mr Nasty' from the TV's 'Karaoke Idol' finals? I didn't know till then, but his production company makes the Fifty-Euro records, right? Fifty just 'fronts' the tracks that his team creates. And he's seen the video. Likes the way I rap along. Wants me to feature in the 'Karaoke Idol' TV show. There's just the preliminary formality of this 'audition' in his hotel-room the evening before... strange how things work out. You've seen those videos on CD-GB, those slappers fronting the dance-mixes. They can't sing. They don't need to. They know it, we know it. All you've got to do is get noticed. All you need is to get a profile. Is that fair? is that reasonable? who the hell knows, not me. If you've got to cheat to win, well, sometimes you've just got to go for it.

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bytristantrotsky© 1 comments/ 13956 views/ 3 favorites

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