Razor Whip Pt. 01

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Life as a roadie to an all-demon metal group: worth the pay?
4.6k words
4.48
15.5k
14

Part 1 of the 2 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 10/31/2014
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I woke up in a better mood than I had in years. I was already looking forward to the evening, my first day at my new job. Sure, it actually did pay a little less than my previous gig, but I was a roadie for my favorite band of all time, and I could not have cared less. Razor Whip played exactly my kind of music, kicked ass in a truly unbelievable manner at every show, and it didn't hurt that all five members were female and downright gorgeous. Erika von Wolfe had been my main reason for learning the guitar, and I had the calluses to prove it, the sight of my fingertips coaxing out a little smile as I stretched before getting out of bed.

It was fairly unusual for me to be this enthusiastic about service-oriented work- in fact, I had been fired from at least one restaurant job for what one could charitably call friction with the management. That said, for this group, I would work to hell and back with a smile on my face. For the love of metal, and, sure, some reasons that were a touch more hormonal than musical, I was more than able to live with it.

The first show of the tour was scheduled for the coming evening, so I had to be at the venue fairly early. Even so, I had more than enough time for a meal that was a bit more lunch than it was breakfast, grinning like an idiot every time I remembered what I was doing that night. Naturally, I played nothing but Whip for the entire 40-minute drive to the concert hall, most likely destroying my eardrums in the process. I caught myself playing air guitar at at least one red light, slightly rolling my eyes but in far too much of a good mood to mind the silliness.

Stepping out of the car, I took a long breath. The first time with anything was always a slight cause for anxiety, and I knew my heart was beating faster than it really should. I hunched and released my shoulders, doing my best to keep my excitement positive. Cocking my head to one side for a moment, I started walking, peripherally aware that I was more or less constantly fiddling with my new ID card, which was functionally an all-access backstage pass: the highlight of the job.

I was excited enough that the next half hour or so passed in a blur, checking in with the perpetually sunglasses-wearing man who had hired me, an oddly commanding presence despite his small stature and lack of any particular mass. Then again, I had little time to dwell on the man's appearance, since there was plenty of work to do and things to carry. Losing track of time in the constant activity was very easy to do.

Some amount of time later, I was finally able to catch a breath. This work was a lot more, well, work than I had necessarily expected, but physical labor always seemed to be a certain sort of satisfying after it was done, and this was no exception. There would be more to come, but I had some time to sit on an empty monitor case, and even wound up having a fairly good conversation with a few of my coworkers, and a guy who turned out to be the bassist for one of the support groups.

After a bit of talking, I was more than convinced that I had a fun job. However, in the satisfaction of the moment, I had somehow lost immediate awareness of the main reason I was there. Unsurprisingly, seeing one of those reasons up close and in person was a very convincing jolt back to reality.

In terms of sheer physical attraction, Ariel Steele, Razor Whip's lead singer, was probably the standout. Her walking around a corner about five paces away from me both cemented that opinion and left me utterly speechless. I had seen the group live several times, but there was a difference between seeing her on stage and this more real setting.

The band were known for genuinely unsubtle costumes, and this one was no exception. The practicality of giving an active performance in heels like hers was just an afterthought. Matching knee boots and elbow gloves with rows of small spikes around the wrists and ankles created an effect more like a bracelet than anything else, and a similar choker completed the impression. With the addition of an aggressively laced corset and gratuitously tight pants, the all-black ensemble was nothing if not overkill. Regardless, I would be lying if I said that that thought so much as crossed my mind in the moment.

The woman simply radiated power. I had simply never seen this kind of confidence before- if the wall had opened up to allow her to get to her destination faster, I would barely have been surprised. She stopped, took a sip from a mostly full bottle of water, and looked straight at me.

"You. New boy. Water bottle. Now."

She must have seen me hesitate in confusion at the fact that she was clearly taken care of on that matter, judging by the near-lethal sneer that she leveled at me. That was more than enough to send me straight to the nearest cooler to retrieve a fresh bottle as quickly as I possibly could, if not a little more so. I hadn't really expected a heartfelt thanks, and I was right.

"Good."

There was an unmistakable note of contempt in her one-syllable response, but it somehow felt valuable anyway. Yes, I was a bit offended, but in the context, I was busier marveling at the fact that I had, even though it was for a split second and through a glove, made physical contact with the person whom I considered, with no qualifiers, to be the most attractive woman on the planet.

Moderately annoyed with myself as I was for not being angrier, I shrugged, mentally noted that I still had a faint smile on my face, and responded to another, less memorable call to some sort of action. Busy as I was for the rest of the night, her voice never entirely left my mind. Speaking, she had an entirely different energy than the vocal weapon she usually fired through the microphone, just as powerful, but with a great deal of refinement and subtlety. It was familiar, in a way, from her more elegant pure singing, but still, more intimate, simply because it was spoken and intended for me, positively or not.

By the time the last encore had ended, I was thoroughly tired. I breathed out hard when I was assigned to go attend to the band in the dressing room, grimacing a little as my instincts prodded me with the likelihood that Steele would be even more demanding after the night's business had been concluded. I swallowed a bit as I opened the door, openly sighing with relief when I saw that she was elsewhere. The woman was an idol in my mind, and seeing her again would obviously have been a very welcome development, tired as I was, but this was on occasion on which ease was just as welcome.

Instead, I found myself making direct eye contact with Erika von Wolfe, the inspiration behind five years of attempted guitar self-education.

"You're the one Thompson sent in?"

She was surprisingly mild, contemplatively leaning forward and sitting on a battered minifridge, head tilted up to point an icy pair of eyes straight at me. She was a strong presence, in a less imposing way than her bandmate, as if she had no need to make a show of herself. Her words were soft, and she seemed very grounded. The overall effect was very reassuring, and I felt myself relax a bit.

"Yes, that's me. What did you need?"

"What's your name?"

"Louis. Louis Westen. And, while I'm at it, it really is a huge honor to be working for Whip. You're the reason I learned the guitar- I, that is- thank you. Seriously."

I grimaced for a second, feeling the numerous stumbles that, really, were inevitable with my sheer level of excitement. She still seemed very distant, but raised an eyebrow in a nonthreatening way, and I might have seen the suggestion of a smile too.

"Hmm. Not the first time I've heard that, but thank you. You've been playing for a long time, then?"

Her interest was obviously not huge, but I appreciated the effort. I opened my mouth to respond, but another voice beat me to the punch.

"You. About time."

Turning around would have been superfluous. I knew who it was. I thought I might have detected a tiny measure of amusement on von Wolfe's face as I winced, looking back and seeing Steele, uncomfortably intense green eyes staring at me from underneath graceful but intimidating eyebrows.

"Much better. Lazy shits... well, you're here now, might as well make the best of it."

Her upper lip curled in a manner that made me want to look away, melt into the floor, or maybe even both.

"Sorry. I came as quickly as I could, I promise. What did you need?"

"For fuck's sake, manners. Call me Miss, or Miss Steele. No Ma'am, either, I'm no old woman."

"Alright- I'm sorry, Miss. What can I do for you?"

She shrugged a little, sneered a little more, and arranged herself in a fairly large chair that was clearly there on her orders.

"I don't really feel like taking off my own boots tonight. No need for me to do that kind of work when I have willing hands around anyway... right?"

Her arched eyebrow made it glaringly obvious that she wanted a very specific answer. Breathing carefully and looking back at her, I took a tiny moment to make sure I had the right response.

"Of course not, Miss. So, you want me to do that?"

If not for the contrastingly pleasant encounter with von Wolfe, I would be questioning whether the job was worth the trouble after all, but I was more or less willing to tolerate it, things being what they were. The words felt less than ideal coming out, but any work had its downsides.

She seemed, if not satisfied, less actively displeased than she had been, and wordlessly extended a leg. This, of course, was not just any leg. Like the rest of her, distractingly beautiful, and perfectly dressed. It would be wrong to think that at any point in her presence I had not been aware of just how exciting it was to be this close. She was absolutely, beyond any shade of doubt, gorgeous, and that fact was amplified spectacularly by the fact that she was, in my mind, one of the most impressive musicians to be found anywhere. In that context, her arrogance seemed almost reasonable, even if keeping up was difficult. Trying to ignore my apprehension and even feeling more or less comfortable as I digested the situation, I broke eye contact and gingerly started undoing the laces, gradually becoming content enough to start vibrating with energy all over again, realizing that I was, in fact, touching the leg of Ariel Steele. I was not having such a bad night after all.

She was more or less silent for a little while, seeming to focus her energies on lazily adjusting her gloves. It occurred to me that von Wolfe had already changed into casual clothes, an interesting contrast with the labor-intensive process that, presumably, was left to me.

"New guy. You put a lot of time into exercise, don't you?"

Her offhand comment was unexpected, but not enough to disrupt my concentration on the seemingly endless eyelets of her boot. Like many repetitive but non-demanding tasks, it was oddly easy to become pleasantly absorbed in the process.

"Well, yes, Miss. I certainly do enjoy the gym. Fairly often while listening to your music, too."

This was largely true. I lacked the funds to have access to either the nutrition or the gym time required to achieve anything truly spectacular, but I did the best I could, and I was usually pleased with the results. I found myself grinning more than a little that she had noticed.

"Hmm. I've seen worse, anyway. Maybe. Take your shirt off, this will be slightly less tedious with a bit of a view, even if it isn't much."

I suppressed a cough, both disappointed and a little insulted, but increasingly aware of the humor to be found in the situation. Instead of some mythical figure, she was, at heart, simply a genuine prima donna.

"I meant now. Something wrong?"

This was the first trace of energy I had heard since she sat down, a light barb of annoyance in place of the previous distant laziness. I stopped my hands, suddenly aware that my knees had become sore from spending time pressed against the tile floor, and straightened up a bit. I pulled my shirt over my head in the same motion that I and legions of other men did daily without a second thought, but every tiny movement felt clunky under what I knew was her appraising glance.

When the cloth had passed over my eyes, the first thing I saw was her lips pressed contemplatively together, followed by what looked like a light shrug.

"Not bad, anyway. For your sort. Now, what are you waiting for? These boots aren't coming off by themselves."

I needed no further encouragement, and finished off both sets of laces at a much quicker pace, carefully pulling the boots off and setting them on the floor. I shifted my hips to stand up and relieve my joints, but the pressure of her foot on my shoulder informed me that she had other plans.

"I like you just fine down there. Stay put."

I was far from tempted to respond anyway, but her standing up made it even less likely. The motion put my face in alarmingly close proximity to her hips, and I hoped with everything I had that my body wasn't planning to broadcast what I was feeling as a result. The corset-laced crotch, fittingly below a matching, well, corset, was a moving sight in a number of ways.

"If you get any clever ideas, you're dead meat, fucker."

She had gripped my hair, hard, and roughly tilted my head up to look at her. I was not expecting her expression, a chilling sneer that was a great deal closer to a smile than anything else I had seen from her to that point.

"I know exactly what you're thinking, and I can see the proof."

My face instantly burned. She was completely right. She had a certain aura to her that was far more compelling than any woman had any business being, and at close range, it was practically a weapon.

"You'd better be very, very good at control, because this outfit is very, very tight, I'm very, very beautiful, and you're taking the whole thing off for me. If you're a proper gentleman about it, I'll even give you a few minutes of down time to go take care of yourself in the bathroom."

This, as far as I could tell, was her version of happy. She showed even more teeth, and I was sure I saw her lick her lips as she released my head, meaningfully gesturing to the laced front of her pants. I tightened my jaw, willing myself to focus as I undid the knot, doing my level best to ignore the persistent pressure between my legs. By then, the increasingly strained relationship between my knees and the floor was the least of my concerns.

I was genuinely relieved to have gotten past the lacing without incident. Then again, that meant that I was confronted with the reality that, presumably, the pants actually had to come off, and that I would be the one to make that happen.

"Waiting for an invitation? Get over yourself and pull down the damn pants, that's what you're paid to do."

The more uncomfortable I got, the more in her realm she appeared to be. Taking the latest in what was rapidly becoming an extended series of deep breaths, I set my hands on the waistband and firmly pulled down, doing my best to keep the gesture smooth, even if I did allow myself a moment of levity in speculating as to what sort of panties lay beneath.

An instant later, the humor was gone. I had expected all sorts of elaborate, revealing, and downright minimalist, but a total absence was not something for which I had prepared. I shut my mouth hard as soon as I realized that at was open, cursing fate as I felt my heart pound and realizing that I was nowhere near done. My molars were pressed together with full force as I slid the cloth the rest of the way down her legs, giving myself an up-close tour of her unsettlingly perfect body in the process, feeling the heat radiate from her skin and watching every graceful curve work its way down to the ankles.

Pressing her advantage, she moved towards me as she stepped out of the legs, putting her genuinely breathtaking vulva a hand's breadth from my eyes. I felt something between a groan and a whimper reverberate low in my throat, wishing that I had been assigned any other job than the one I had fantasized about having, in more stable times.

A moment after the fact, I realized that the sound that had sent an assertive shiver down my spine had most likely been her laugh, low and menacing as it was.

"Hard enough that it hurts yet? No? Well, we'll get you there in no time. On your feet."

Besides the comfort in my knees, I was much more comfortable being able to put a bit of distance between us. It was abundantly clear that she enjoyed seeing how thoroughly she could tantalize me, and even a little respite was enough to clear my head a little.

"Don't even think about it. Corset next. The laces are on the back- and you'll be getting them from the front. How does that sound to you?"

I closed my eyes for a second, digesting the maneuver I was going to have to make, and just how close that would put our bodies. There were two major problems with this: firstly, this put our hips at a distance that was nearly touching. In my present condition, that could readily prove disastrous. Secondly, I was sure that she had a bra on to match her nonexistent panties, which would make the situation further below even more difficult than it already was.

Grimacing again and trying to hide it, I stepped forward, but she stopped me with her gloved palm on my chest, the warmth making the heart beneath it beat even harder.

"I said, how does that sound?"

She was deathly serious, and it did not take long to realize what she wanted.

"It... sounds good, Miss."

"Better. Now get moving, this thing is tight and I want it off. Besides, you're looking forward to the view, I can tell."

I did my best to keep my hips tilted back, wishing that I could will my penis into retreat, and feeling the presence of her body inches from mine. Every time I pulled a length of lace out of its eyelet, I was aware that I was that much closer to making my torment a great deal worse. Inevitably, I finished. I was spared the extra task of removing it, as it simply fell away once its support was gone.

Of course, her breasts were flawless. For the first time, direct eye contact was a much more preferable option than anything else, and I hurriedly looked up to her face, greeted by a smile that bordered on disturbing. She licked her lips again with a tongue that seemed a bit longer than it really should, staring back at me and lazily draping her arms over my shoulders. Thanks to the gloves, I still had yet to actually feel her skin, but the move was flirtatious to an absolutely ridiculous degree, and I involuntarily squirmed a little, simply unable to keep my composure.

By now, she was wearing nothing but gloves and a choker. My crotch ached like nobody's ever should. The high-powered drum machine that had ostensibly replaced my heart was making a legitimate effort to break out of the confines of my chest. My throat was dry, and I had every confidence that I was making a thoroughly unimpressive face under the sheer force of her eyes. Just when I thought that my spine, legs, or both were about to give in, she took a step back, grinning in a way that, for a moment, made me seriously question my odds of surviving the night. It was obvious that she was working to make as much of a display as possible, and it was just as clear that her ability to do so was pushing the bounds of what any mortal being could tolerate.

"Now- ready for the big reveal?"

I was a little quizzical, seeing as she was already functionally nude and making sure I could not possibly forget that fact, but I luckily remembered the proper response.

"I am, Miss."

That felt a little silly, but under the circumstances, I was more than willing to bear with it. She raised her eyebrows, and her tongue, still seeming unnaturally long and flexible, made another brief appearance.

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