BC Ch. 08: Mazzy's Groupie

People call me BC. Big Cat. A nickname I've had since I was a boy. However, during my years at art college I was known as 'Fluffer'. These are the stories of that time. Fluffer's tales.

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"I won't go down." Mazzy's Irish lilt was husky after her gig. Behind her, the early-dawn city lights slid by as the taxi took us home. "I know it's selfish and you can do whatever you like, I love it all, and I'm on the pill, but I won't suck you. I'm protecting my throat, my voice, is that okay?"

This was more than okay for two reasons: First, Mazzy was beautiful; I mean the kind of angelic beauty you rarely meet in the flesh, male or female, the kind that startles you. Her dark ringlets framed a fresh complexion of apple cheeks, bee-stung lips and ice-blue irises that were hypnotically encircled in black. Someone who flattered you just by standing next to you, they didn't need to kneel at your feet as well. Second, up to that point I didn't know that sex was even likely.

Mazzy's band was a local sensation. The bluesy psychedelic punk outfit were good, they'd even placed in the charts, but she elevated them to greatness. Not only did she look like she was from a different realm, but her sweet vocal also offset their percussive noise and made you want to tear your heart out and offer it to them.

And believe it or not, it was Mazzy who introduced herself to me.

Whilst waiting for the band to start, I leant on a barstool, chatting to Sara and the cool art-school crowd that had brought me to the sweaty little basement. Mazzy came onto stage and the audience erupted. She surveyed the crowd, then jumped down, her aura parting people around her as she walked right up to me. I just stood there, jaw dropped, lobotomised by excitement and panic. She gave me this winsome smile and took my stool, dragging it up onto stage.

My friends nudged and jeered but Sara took it too far when she had the band dedicate a song to 'Fluffer'. It was like a smack in the face. Mazzy made me feel attractive and special. They reminded me I was dirty and ordinary.

After the gig, once the DJ kicked off, Mazzy chatted in a dark corner with the band, drinking Perrier. Sara dared me to introduce myself, so I bought two bottles of water and ploughed through the crowd toward her. She saw me approaching, peeled off from her group, and met me halfway on the dance floor. Then we were actually dancing.

Fucksake I am a very, very bad dancer. Think Frankenstein with a ferret down his trousers. I tried to ignore the circle of gawping people around us that I'm certain were thinking, "Why's Mazzy dancing with... that?"

Then Mazzy reached up to my head, dragged it down to her level like a microphone and shouted into my ear, "Shall we sit down? I hate dancing, I'm just shite!" Bless her. She was a brilliant dancer, well to me anyway.

Huddled in a booth in the shadows, we swilled fizzy water and laughed at people trying to look cool and made ourselves small so she didn't get bothered by fans. Mazzy pressed so close I had to put my arm round her. "Pretend to be my bodyguard," she shouted.

I don't know what kind of bodyguards she was used to but I just literally guarded her body, holding it close to mine. I could feel the heat of her skin through our clothing. That's how we communicated in fact, the whole night. One of the best conversations of my life.

When Mazzy asked me to see her home, still in character, I pushed through the crowd to hail her a cab. She held my hand the entire time and dragged me into the car with her, where we sat silently until she asked, "So what's with the "Fluffer" thing?"

I explained. She reddened, turned her head to the window and I felt like a sleeze. That's when she came out with her bombshell and I nearly wept with excitement.

She lived in a swanky penthouse flat apparently on loan to her from a PR agency--all sleek white and city-views. "It's kind of like being a squatter," she announced, slinging her keys onto a slab of marble that, I suppose, was the kitchen. "I could be kicked out any day. The minute my bubble bursts I'm back out on the street. No record deals, no flat. You want to take a bath?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just slinked up a hallway and into the bathroom, discarding layers of her gothic milk-maid outfit as she went.

The bathroom was entirely marble, floors, walls, ceiling, even the double-sized bowl of the bath sunk in the middle of the room beneath a skylight like a Bond set. Mazzy stepped out of her skirt and, just in her bra and thong, twisted taps to gush steaming water. Her skin didn't look real, it was so perfect, more like part of the translucent stone around her.

She clicked her fingers at me to strip off too then folded her arms and watched with a smile on one cheek that seemed to both mock and smoulder. When I got to my shorts, I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her, relishing her oddly familiar shape against me.

"So is kissing ok?" I said.

She nodded, her eyes gleaming. "Kissing is my thing." She offered up her face.

Her lips where huge and she kissed in soft paddy presses, mouth closed and almost nipping at my lips with hers. I grew insanely hard against her soft stomach, and couldn't help but push it against her.

"Whoa there Tonto." She turned off the bath, eyes snagging where half my stiff cock had breached my waistband. "There's no rush."

She removed her bra, stepped out of her thong and into the hot fragrant water before my eyes could grab all they wanted. With less elegance, I presented her with an eyeful as I tried to do the same. Mazzy watched glassily as I climbed in, giggling at my irrepressibly bouncing cock. "Your fella's like my dog when I come home after a tour."

My head buzzed with sleepiness and the hot water, with some kind of relaxing lavender oil thing in it, hooded our eyes as we interlocked legs and basked. Mazzy leant over and kissed me again, grabbing a bar of soap from behind me and soaping my chest with a self-absorbed sleepy-eyed expression.

I cupped her beautiful face and we kissed, our breaths deepening and mingling as her hands wandered, grasped and teased with where they were headed.

She sat back and smiled triumphantly at my noises as she slid soapy hands up and down my shaft, reaching under and laughing throatily as she scrubbed beneath my balls before pulling out her hand and presenting me with the soap.

She settled on her knees between my legs, leaning back against me and sliding around against my front, teasing my erection with her bottom. I lathered her shoulders, her back and then her breasts drawing the first involuntary sighs from her as the plump flesh slipped about in my hands, the nipples hardening against my palms.

"Jesus," she purred. "Your hands are like leather." I stopped pawing. She clasped them back to her. "No, don't stop. I like it." I caressed her again and her head lolled against my chest, exposing an enticing slope of skin to my lips.

Her hands lay lightly on mine, following yet steering south in descending spirals, under her breasts, over her ribs, down her belly. She twisted her face to my lips, as four hands dipped below the water into the world of hot, slippery crevasses. She pressed her fingers tight to the backs of my hands, curling them under her crinkly curls and making us hum into each other's mouths.

Her mound was a squeeze-box for producing croaky little sighs. Her legs opened and her back writhed. She knelt up a little, released me and pushed her hips out of the water, rocking them up to my hands almost greedily, watching them stroke between her legs.

Her breathing grew heavy, urging, and her clitoris was a hard pearl amongst the soapy soft flesh. I stirred and she kissed me again with those nibbling lips, slightly parted but not encouraging anything deeper. In contrast the wriggle of her hips seemed to clamour. She planted her feet either side of my knees and made a crab to spread as wide and high as possible, so I slid a finger into her and her kiss stiffened. She trembled violently and I wrapped an arm around her, held her steady and worked her cunt with finger and palm until she moaned and shuddered.

She locked my hand in place with both hers, clamped her legs together on top, and squeaked into our kiss. She froze. Her hole fluttered around my finger, each sucking clamp followed by a quiver and a blissed out grunt of climax.

Still gasping, she squirmed soapily in my embrace until she faced me, her skin slooping all over my hard cock, as she kissed my neck. She was sliding herself up and down my front as she nibbled. Those kisses really were her thing. Each was soft as a blessing.

"God help me I still feel clitty. Sorry." She lifted her tits up to my lips, shivering as I teased her nipples. "What else can you do fluffy boy?"

"Fluffer."

She snorted and stood, clawing her buttocks and pushing her hips toward me, water cascading down her skin. I mimicked her lovely kisses, but plucked them under her water-flattened tuft, to her labia. She caught a breath. Her clit was large and so responsive I could almost feel it throbbing against my lips. Her hole felt molten with warm juices, spilling over my probing tongue.

Her second orgasm caught us both by surprise. She just suddenly seemed to go pop. One minute she was nudging dreamily at my lapping and licking and sucking, the next she grabbed me hard to her mound, spasming, her legs so powerless I had to hold her to my face with a firm grip on her bum.

When she opened her eyes, she was an angel, glowing and happily shimmering above me. Her cackling suggested my mouth was too much for her now, so I lowered her slowly and raised my face to catch hers in a kiss. She paused, arched to my front, staring down at my mouth, slick with her juices, and cupped my face in her hands. She didn't say a word, just stared, then gently touched her tongue to my lips and ran it along them. Her coy, secret, tongue -- denied me in our kissing -- now sent electric shocks jolting to my cock as she licked herself from my lips.

She pulled away and smiled a little sheepishly at me, I kissed her and she slipped down my front again, sinking into the water and settling her hips over the head of my cock. We waited for exquisite moments, my head nestled lightly at her opening, and then with a deep groan she sank and I thrust and we properly joined.

She covered me in more of those pillowy kisses as I impaled her, each shove met with a squirm of her hips and sighs, soon puffing up into moans. I gritted my teeth and pushed, the water slopping as she bounced up and down on my lap, her arms wrapped around me but eventually unable even to kiss, eyes screwed shut, mouth gaped. She muttered, "Oh, oh, oh..."

I rammed as if paddling up a tsunami.

She cried out and flopped over me, bearing down hard on my thrusts and coming with a flurry of whimpers. I rocked on, relaxing my hold on the slippery tail of my orgasm and fucking her as she groaned under the weight of her climax, her face still buried in my neck.

I was just a few strokes away, and had gripped her hips, sliding them up and down quick as a wanking fist. I wondered if she might come again, come with me, when I heard a soft, snuffling little snore...

I stopped.

Mazzy didn't respond.

I listened, there it was again. She was fast asleep! She shifted a little in my arms, held me tight, and croaked a hum.

My heart melted, but unfortunately not my belligerent cock, who stayed stubbornly lodged inside her as I stood up. I grabbed a towel and threw it around her. Holding her tight, and still impaled, I found the door to her room and carried her to her bed, slipping her off me and lying her back on her towel.

I dabbed her as dry as I could before she grabbed her duvet and curled up in it, then dried myself and lay down beside her, my hard-on nestled between her buttocks as it grumbled well into my dreams.

When I woke up, it was midday, and I was alone.

Not even Sara believed Mazzy'd taken me home. The last she'd seen of me was dancing so badly with the budding starlet she'd assumed I'd blown it. No-one believed me. In fact, I even wondered if I'd collapsed somewhere in a drunken haze and imagined the whole thing.

Then there was this article in the music press, entitled: "Cheekster questions Mazzy."

Cheekster: So Mazzy, your boys in the band are famous for umm... partying with their fans. Do you have your own groupies to play with?

Mazzy: Sometimes.

Cheekster: Boys or girls?

Mazzy: I'm a catholic girl. In the all-embracing sense!

Cheekster: What's your peccadillo?

Mazzy: Kissing.

Cheekster: When did you last kiss someone?

Mazzy: Five hours ago.

Cheekster: Boy or girl?

Mazzy: A boy. But he did me like a girl.

Cheekster: More!

Mazzy: Well you know how women often put their needs second to men's? He put his second to mine.

Cheekster: Ooh... Where might I find him?

Mazzy: I don't know his name, but he said his friends called him Fluffer and his address... ah... here we are: number fuckity-you, fuck you street, fuck you.

Somewhere, a punk girl called Pearl picked up a copy of the magazine, recognised my name and set about finding me.

Bad idea.