(Thanks to delicate yielding for editing and advice on an earlier version of this piece. The subject matter herein should not reflect negatively on delicate yielding's character or judgement.)
As usual, Slag worked the crowd into a frenzy, smashing his cheap guitar at the end of the set. It didn't matter that he wasn't much of a musician. All he needed was his mullet and a microphone; his screaming fans did the rest.
During the show, Becka wormed her way to the front of the crowd, but when the lights came up, a line had already formed at the stage door; all wanna-be groupies just like her, dying for a chance to party with Slag and the boys.
Most of the girls had adopted the look of the women in his videos; denim cutoffs with tan ass cheeks hanging out, torn tank tops, chain belts, and bracelets. It was like a trailer park beauty pageant.
But Becka was better than these pitiful, tattooed sluts. She wasn't there to give blowjobs, or take it up the ass. She would never do such a thing. She just wanted to be considered for a slot in one of Slag's videos. She'd been taking ballet since she was little, did modern dance in high school, and her college major was going to be choreography. She had production ideas for Slag, and it was imperative that she get backstage to meet him.
In order to set herself apart from all the other loser-sluts, she was wearing a sliver top and a black leather miniskirt. She knew the silver top accentuated her always-stiff nipples, but that was just a way to get noticed, not a come-on. The problem was how to get backstage so she actually would get noticed.
As luck would have it, there was a ruckus brewing in the line ahead of her. A couple of biker-whores were trading insults, just like a clip from the Jerry Springer show. She edged closer, until she was right behind one of the girls. Then, between a "fuck you bitch" and a "you don't know me, you cunt!" she gave the girl in front of her a brutal shove, right into her adversary.
Instantly, hair was flying, tops were ripping, and the two biker-whore girls were tearing into each other pissed off mud wrestlers. The line turned into a circle as everyone watched the loser get stripped of her clothing while the winner straddled her, pinching her tattooed tits and slapping her bare ass.
During the commotion, Becka slipped to the head of the line unnoticed, just in time to see a cherry-lipped tart turning around in disgust.
"No way, you perv!" the girl snapped at the security guy. She stomped off in a huff. Becka laughed to herself. She knew she was much prettier than that little slut. Surely the security guy would let her in.
"ID bitch?" the big beefy guy said, staring at her silver top.
She fished through her tiny bag and handed him her license, which, indeed, proved she was 18. Satisfied with her documentation, he took her by the elbow and led her inside the foyer.
"If you want to get in, you gotta show me your tits."
"What?" Becka gasped. "I'm here to audition for the videos, not to have sex."
"All the more reason you gotta show me your tits. My boss hates fake tits. He doesn't allow fake-titted girls in his videos, and I've gotta tell you hon, those don't look real to me."
Becka stood there fuming. She would never show her tits to a loser like this guy, (although she probably would show them to Slag) but there was no other way to get in. She sighed and lifted her top.
"Nice," the security guy grinned, grabbing a handful of her upturned, bottom-heavy, pointed breast.
"Hey!" she winced, spinning away from him. She dropped her top and whisked past him, relieved to escape from his perverted clutches. Just as she rounded the corner she ran into a guy with a clipboard in his hands. In fact, his hands accidentally jiggled her tits when he bumped into her.
"Well hello," he grinned, staring at her quivering top.
"I'm here to audition for the videos?" she said, trying to appear calm, even though her knees were shaking.
"You mean as a dancer, or...?"
"Yes," she said, interrupting him. "I've been dancing since I was little."
"I can tell," the clipboard guy said. "You've got a great body."
She blushed, wishing she'd worn a longer skirt and a different top, one that didn't make her stiff nipples so obvious. Of course, she wanted to look hot for Slag, but she didn't want to look hot for everybody. It was just too demeaning. She watched the guy say something into his headset, and then he took her by the arm.
"Come with me, young lady. This is your lucky day."
They snaked down a dimly lit hallway, and up some stairs, and suddenly, they were standing in front of a door with a big silver star on it. The door opened, and Slag stepped out, shirtless, with the top button of his leather pants undone. Becka thought she was going to faint. She grabbed the clipboard guys' arm and leaned into him.
"Well hello, darlin'" Slag smiled, holding out his hand. When she took it, his touch sent a shiver clear down her spine, straight to her pussy. Instantly, she felt herself getting wet, and she had the sudden fear that she was going to start dripping.
"Becka," she croaked, pinching her legs together. He released her hand, which eased the flow between her legs, and stepped back to look at her.
"So you want to dance, huh?"
"Yes!" she gushed. "I love your music! I have all your CDs, and I've got some ideas for choreography."
"Really?" he grinned. "All my music? What's your favorite CD cover?"
"Oh, I don't actually have your CDs. I downloaded the songs with LimeWire, but I really think you could be doing some more dynamic things with your choreography."
"LimeWire, eh?" Slag gave her a curious look. "Cool." Then he turned and whispered something to the clipboard guy.
Becka was so excited, she thought she was going to piss herself. Slag was actually talking to her, ready to listen to her ideas, ready to treat her as an equal, not as some little bitch who just wanted to get laid.
"Tell you what," he said. "Carl here is going to take you downstairs for a video audition, but you've got to do whatever he says, okay?"
"Of course," Becka nodded.
"We're going into a new phase with our music videos, you know, pushing the envelope, and when you're on the cutting edge, you just have to go with it, no questions asked. The director has a reason for everything he does, so you don't second-guess his judgement. You understand?"
"Yes," she replied, visualizing in her mind a soundstage in Hollywood, with a famous director - perhaps Yang Lee, or Tim Burton - barking out orders. "Look right into the camera, Becka. That's it. Perfect!"
Slag slid his hand up under the back of her top, jerked her quivering body up against his, and gave her a kiss on the lips. "See you after the shoot, okay?"
"Cool" Becka gasped. She watched as Slag and the clipboard man exchanged a whispered chuckle, and then the clipboard man lead her back downstairs.
It was a lot for her to take in, but she was determined to make Slag proud of her. Surely he would recognize her dedication and professionalism. Plus, she had felt a deep, personal connection when he kissed her, and she knew in her heart they were destined to be lovers one day.
The clipboard man lead her into a gray cement room that had a three-camera setup, two of them on tripods and a third mobile camera sitting on a stool. There was an elaborate light tree, some PAR lights on the floor, and a tropical backdrop strung up on the wall.
"Becka," clipboard-guy said with a wry smile, "this is Mike. He's our video director."
Becka shook Mike's hand, and instantly, she felt comfortable with the situation. Mike was a small guy with glasses, very unassuming, the kind of guy she and her girlfriends would make fun of at school, but also the kind of guy they could manipulate with a smile or a missing button. She beamed at him, feeling more confident than ever.
"I'll be back at the end of the shoot, Becka," clipboard-guy said, as he headed for the door, "and either Slag will be with me, or we'll catch him on the tour bus."
Becka felt it again, the twinge between her legs. Just the mere mention of Slag's name was doing it to her. She sighed, feeling like Cinderella, but with no stroke of midnight to worry about.
"This is a model release form," Mike said. "Sign it and we can get started."
Becka was so excited, she didn't even bother to read the fine print. She just filled out her address and social security number, and signed her name with a flourish, dotting the 'i' in her last name with a heart.
"We're going into production this summer," Mike said, closing the door to the dingy room. "Will you be available?"
"Of course," Becka said, primping her hair for the shoot. He went over to the computer, hit a couple of keys, and then one of Slag's biggest hits started blaring through the sound system.
"We don't know what outfit we're going to put you in yet, so just throw your clothes in this bag, and we'll make that decision later."
"You want me to take off my clothes?" Becka asked, horrified.
"Everything but your thong, baby."
"Are you serious?" she gasped, suddenly second-guessing her decision to go through with it.
He flashed her a geeky smile. "It's show business, baby. We've got to see how your tits bounce, for the dance moves. It helps the people in wardrobe figure out what your best look would be, and that dictates the production values of the video. It's all about you girl."
Becka couldn't believe this was happening to her, but she really had no choice. Slag had told her to do whatever the director said, and she definitely wanted him to know that he could count on her. She spun her skirt around, unzipped it, and lowered it down her dancer thighs. Then she turned her back and pulled off her top, her hands shaking, her breath coming in little gasps.
"Alright darlin', we're rolling."
She started dancing with her back to the camera, having no idea how great her round ass looked in her tiny thong. Finally, she got up the courage to turn around, doing a lot of moves that kept her hands in front of her chest.
"Loosen up, Darlin," Mike said, roaming around with his camera on his shoulder.
She tried closing her eyes, and that helped. Before she knew it, she was really getting into the music, puffing out her chest, letting her perfect breasts jiggle up and down and back and forth for Slag, who would surely be captivated by her lithe young body when he saw the video.
"That was great," Mike smiled. "You're a natural." He lowered his camera and took a step closer. "You know, just between you and me, my boss was really taken by you. I think you've got this audition aced, but we still need to go through with what's on the script.
"Script?" Becka asked, fanning herself with her hand. She was already dripping sweat from the hot lights.
"Yeah, my boss has it all scripted so that no girl gets an unfair advantage."
Becka smiled to herself. She knew she was better than all the other girls. Why even worry about it?
Mike went over to the computer table. "Wear this," he said, handing her a wide black leather belt. She wrapped it around her waist, fumbling with the buckle. When she couldn't fasten it, Mike did it for her, staring down at her stiff nipples the whole time. "You want to hook your thumbs in it when you're doing your line dance moves."
"Cool," she sighed, still trying to catch her breath.
"Okay, now you need to take off your thong."
"What?" she gasped.
"It's in the script," he said, with an air of authority. "This scene is shot in silhouette, so the camera isn't actually going to see what's under your thong, but it's going to see the lines of the thong, which means the thong's gotta go."
She thought about it for a second, and she knew he was right. She'd seen videos like that, where the female dancers were obviously naked, but they were never actually exposed. She let out a sigh and grabbed the straps of her thong. She was just glad she'd given herself a good trim that morning, which she had done on the off-chance that she and Slag might actually hook up. As she started to pull the straps down her hips, she imagined Slag watching the video.
"Which camera should I face, when I, you know..." she couldn't say it, even though she knew she was going to do it.
"This one," Mike grinned. "Let's do it twice, darlin'. Once from the back, once from the front." He got down on one knee, aiming his camera up at her snatch. As she slowly revealed her pussy for the lens, she felt another gush of desire coursing through her like electricity.
"Beautiful," Mike said, pulling his face out from behind the camera to take in her exquisite cunt, smooth and shiny like blown glass. "Now, turn around, and do it again."
She whipped her thong back up, spun around and stuck her scrumptious ass in his face. It felt so good, exposing herself to Slag. How could he possibly resist her pretty pussy?
The music started up again, and she danced with abandon, spinning, twirling, doing everything she could think of to set herself apart from the other girls. So what if she was naked? She was 18. She could do whatever she wanted.
The song ended, and out of nowhere, Mike shoved a stool up behind her. "Take a break, darlin'" he said, handing her a bottled water. She drank down half of it in one long gulp. While she was catching her breath, Mike dragged a mat out onto the floor, the same kind of mat they had in gym class for tumbling. She wondered if she was supposed to do some hand stands, or forward rolls. Whatever. At this point, she was up for anything.
"Now," the clipboard guy said, "we need some prowling cat moves. You know, down on your knees, glaring at the camera like your going to pounce?"
"Cool," Becka said, rising to the challenge.
The lights changed, another song started, and she found herself down on all fours, her tits dangling, her ass in the air. She prowled around the matt, snarling, pouting, giving the camera guy every angle she cold think of. The only problem was, every time she'd lift a hand or a knee, it would be stuck to the mat. All she could think of was that someone had spilled a cream soda, or perhaps a milkshake on it. It was a bit distracting, but she was an almost-professional, so she toughed it out.
"Can you do the splits?" the guy asked.
"Of course," she replied, happy to show off her talents. Mike grinned. "Do one, with your back to me," he said. "Stick you ass in the air and then slide down to your splits."
She complied, having no idea that when she did it, the lights lit up her camel toe perfectly, showing her smooth slit, with her little pink nub poking out the top. She also didn't know that the camera guy was zooming in on her bits so that they filled up the whole screen.
"My boss is going to be so pleased," Mike said, hitting the remote to switch to one of Slag's big power ballads. "Now, this is the last scene. It's going to be you, my boss, and another famous rock star dude whose name I can't divulge, and they're going to be all over you. It's going to be a simulated sex scene, so you're going to have to dig down and pull out your acting chops. You have done some acting, haven't you?"
"Of course," she smiled, but her heart was suddenly racing. She was going to be having simulated sex with Slag plus another dude? Who could it be? Kid Rock? John Mayer? She pulled her knees up in front of her, sitting on the sticky mat, fantasizing about the scenario.
"We've got a couple of professional dancers who are going to be playing the part of my boss and the other rock star dude for the audition. The simulated sex is going to be real, but not consummated, if you know what I mean." He gave her a wry smile, and then flicked his headset mic on. "Bring 'em in."
The door opened, and two young guys strode in, both of them shirtless. Becka pulled her legs tighter to her body, suddenly feeling quite naked. Dancing for Slag was one thing, but getting all up close and personal with a couple of dudes she didn't even know? This was not what she signed up for. She considered the possibility of bailing, but only briefly, because now she was being introduced, and it was too late to change her mind.
"Tom and Jerry, meet Becka."
"Yo'" they said in unison, as they both dropped their jeans. They were wearing guy-thongs, one red, one blue. Becka let out a little gasp. Both guys were ripped to perfection, washboard abs, big biceps, pecs as large as a young girls breasts. They strode over, and the red-thong guy reached out to grab her hands.
"On your feet, Becka. We're going to put you in a sandwich."
Before she knew what was happening, red-thong guy was in front of her, taking off her big black leather belt. Then his hands were sliding up her firm chest, feeling her perfect tits.
"Oh God!" she moaned, as the blue-thong guy slid his hand down between the cheeks of her ass. Red-thong guy guided her hand down onto his hard-on, which was no longer inside his red thong. Then she felt the blue-thong guy's dick poking up against the back side of her pussy.
"On your hands and knees, bitch," red-thong guy said, jerking her to the ground. She complied. What else could she do? It was what Slag wanted. For a moment she thought she was going to cry, but then there was a dick in her mouth. A few seconds later, blue-thong guy was entering her pussy from behind.
She'd never gone this far with two guys at once before, and it was mind blowing, being caressed and kissed and fondled by four hands and two dicks. In spite of her trepidation, she couldn't resist the pangs of desire that were flooding her body, turning her into another person; a horny slut, with only one mission in life: to fuck.
She succumbed to her desires, like succumbing to the icy blue water when you first jump into the pool. But this was more like jumping onto a broiling caldron of passion. Every nerve in her body was on fire. The cock in her throat felt like it was reaching clear down into her chest. And the cock in her pussy filled her up so completely, she no longer had control of her body. It was like she had turned into a puppet, a writhing vessel of desire, aching to cum.
Suddenly she felt it, the pangs of an orgasm building inside her. She wanted to cry out, but the cock in her throat wouldn't let her. Gasping, gurgling, she whimpered in despair as the feeling snuck closer, teasing her, bringing her so close.
When her orgasm started, it set both guys off, but they didn't cum inside her. Red-thong guy whipped out his whopper and jerked off all over her face, and blue-thong guy shot his jizz all over her ass and up onto her back. She was still vibrating from her orgasm when blue-thong guy grabbed her ass and flipped her over on her back. Suddenly, Mike, the camera guy, was hovering over her.
"Now Becka," Mike said, unzipping his jeans, "at the end of this scene, it turns into a gangbang, so just go with it, okay?"
She nodded, so overwhelmed she was unable to speak. Mike grabbed her legs, shoved them up against her chest and plunged his little geek-dick inside her while blue-thong guy held the camera. That's when she noticed the people slowly filing into the room; a big black guy (famous basketball player?), a couple of middle-aged roadies, a short, dark-skinned security guard. She felt hands on her tits, someone caressing her face, a finger entering her ass.
She looked up to see a giant black penis lowering towards her face. She opened her mouth and let it in, feeling totally overcome by animal instincts. She wanted to cum again. She wanted the big black dick to shoot jizz in her mouth. She wanted the hands on her tits to pinch harder. She wanted to feel a dick up her ass, something she'd never done before.
When Mike was ready, he pulled out and shot cum all over her stomach, right about the same time the black guy shot cum up her nose and into her hair.