Purity

Purity, the punk-pop princess beloved of the tabloids for her raunchy, in-your-face persona coupled with sweet, sugary songs, plus her willingness to display her luscious body and smouldering sensuality in steamy videos, was on her knees satisfying her record label head. She worked the man's cock with expert skill, moaning in genuine pleasure at the feel of it going deeper and deeper into her throat. His PA, stripped to her garter belt, black stockings and heels, was kneeling at her side, fondling and kissing her through the fishnet, lace and leather she wore. Purity knew that after he had come, the executive would expect her to use the secretary for her own pleasure as he watched. She would enjoy that. The corporate whore knew her work well, and was using her knowing fingers to stimulate the rock chick's full, juicy breasts and big hard nipples. Purity shuddered in pleasure as she guzzled on the executive's cock, and looked forward to how well this girl would use her tongue...

This scene was later to appear in the lyrics of her song "Mr Big", with the allusive mention of "you do us both". As indeed he did, having his PA up the arse then using that tireless capitalist cock to do Purity bent over his desk.

She felt used, demeaned and utterly satiated by the fucking. Just how she liked it. As she left, he admonished her:

"Bring that one out of that other band -- you know, the redhead with all the tattoos - with you next time!"

She gave him two fingers up. It was one thing to bang faceless secretaries, but she wasn't going to do celebrity threesomes unless she wanted to. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed seducing the girl in question, a tasty little minx with a trim, lithe body. Purity enjoyed lesbian sex as much as straight -- in fact, her first lover had been a girl. She thought back on the memory as her chauffeur drove her home.

She had been in her first year at university -- her only year, as she'd dropped out to concentrate on her music pretty quickly. In those days, she had been a goth. All white-faced, black-lipped sultry sulkiness in satin and lace. She had been at a party with her friend Lizzie. Emboldened by the drink, Lizzie had told her: "you know, you're the most beautiful person here?" And Purity -- in those days, she was still going by her real name of Susan -- had thought the same about Lizzie, and impulsively she kissed her hard. Soon the two teenage goths were kissing passionately in full view of everyone at the party, drawing quite a crowd as they explored each other's mouths, their hands roaming eagerly over each other's bodies in their purple and black Victorian dresses. Shamelessly, wantonly, Susan started nuzzling at Lizzie's neck like a sexual vampiress, sucking on her neck hard enough to start the first of many love bites. She tongued her ear, panted: "your place!" And the other girl nodded eagerly. Lizzie let herself be taken by the hand and led out of the party, through the crowd of leering students, and out into the cold street. Susan hailed a taxi, and as they were driven to Lizzie's flat spent the journey feeling her up through her clothes, enjoying making her squirm and gasp.

"That'll be..." The taxi driver stared to say, when they reached their destination. But Susan shut him up: "we've paid with that free show, mate! Now drive off somewhere and wank off thinking about what I'm about to do to her!"

Lizzie looked in amazement as her friend, her soon-to-be lover, led her out of the taxi and the driver ogled them both for a moment then drove off happily.

"My God, Suze! You are shameless!"

"I am tonight, babe! As you are about to find out. Now get the door open and let's get inside!"

Inside Lizzie's flat, luxurious by student standards thanks to her wealthy family, the girls fell on each other again. They kissed voraciously, inexperienced but fuelled by lust. They slid long slim fingers inside each other's clothing, discovering silk and lace underthings and delicious bare flesh. Lizzie started to unfasten Susan's dress, and soon he was slipping it from her shoulders and pushing it down around her ankles. Susan stepped back out of it, raised her arms languorously above her head and asked: "Am I still the most beautiful?"

Lizzie just groaned in adoration and nodded her head as she gazed on her friend. Stripped, the young woman was superb. Her body was both athletic and voluptuous, with full, firm, prominent breasts and a narrow waist. Her legs were long and toned, with heavy thighs and narrow ankles. And she was dressed to show herself off. Her lingerie was all black lace, from her bra and panties to the matching suspender belt, and almost completely transparent. Her stockings were black silk, and she was wearing knee-high stiletto-heeled boots.

There was an awkward, nervous moment. Up till now, they had only kissed and cuddled. Now things were about to move to another level. Susan sensed her friend's nervousness, and instinctively took control.

"Well then, I think you should be on your knees to show your appreciation! Go on Liz, do it! Do it, you lesbian slut!"

The words stung her, degraded her, but also excited her. Eagerly, willingly, she accepted the role she had been given and knelt before the beautiful young goth. Her hands reached out and drew off Susan's flimsy panties, her mouth sought out her most intimate places. Like the slut she had been called, Lizzie tongued her lover hungrily, tasting a woman's arousal for the first time and learning swiftly how to stimulate another female as she herself would have liked. Every heavy breath, every moan and gasp, every obscenity Susan uttered were music to Lizzie's ears as she performed oral sex on another woman for the first time. She caressed and stroked the leather and silk-clad legs that her lover parted to allow her tongue to do its wicked work. She reached up and clutched at those superb breasts, squeezing them relentlessly as her mouth edged the other girl towards and into her first lesbian climax.

"Oh, fuck! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Susan screamed out as her devoted lover worked her instinctive feminine arts upon her. The other girl sprawled at her feet, still in her goth finery.

"I don't know where you learned that, but you are a very good little slut! And now it's your turn!" Susan dragged Lizzie up onto her feet, and stripped her of her gown. Beneath it, the other girl wore a black mesh bra, a Victorian ivory satin corset and suspenders, and black fishnet stockings. The corset squeezed her already slender waist in further and emphasised her small but pert breasts, which were soon freed as Susan stripped off her bra. She shivered as Susan teased her erect nipples mercilessly while nuzzling her and whispering in her ear: "It's the bedroom for you, you slut!"

Lizzie dutifully let Susan drag her into the bedroom. Let herself be pushed down onto the big double bed, let the stockings be pealed from her legs then used, still warm from her body, to bind her wrists together then tie them to the headboard. Constrained by her corset, willingly held in bondage, Lizzie surrendered to hours of the most exquisite torment as Susan explored her body with fingers and tongue, teasing her cruelly to orgasm after orgasm, relishing her sexual power over this willowy goth beauty.

Eventually she freed her from her bounds, and the young lovers completed undressing each other, starting another leisurely sinful exploration of one another's most intimate places. They writhed against each other, their clitorises tingling at the friction, and they made love again.

The next day, Susan brushed off Lizzie's attempts at affection. She told her it had been a bit of fun, and they would see each other around. But she never saw her again. She had loved every minute of their night together, but she wasn't looking for a girlfriend.

A week or so later, she was performing with a band she had formed with some other students. The band was called Purity Rules, and as is the way with a charismatic frontwoman, their few fans had attached the name to the singer rather than her anonymous backing musicians. So it was as Purity rather than Susan that she was becoming known.

After the gig, a young student approached her. He was a tall, well-built young man with rough good looks. He looked her up and down. She was wearing a spandex catsuit, plastered to her glorious body with sweat from the stage.

"I saw you at the party last week. Shame you're a lezzer, or I'd have asked you home meself!" he barked, in a northern accent.

"Who says I'm -- only -- a lesbian?" She challenged back.

Half an hour later, Purity was on all fours on the young man's bed, taking his massive cock from behind and losing her straight virginity. Gaz, as he was called, seemed to get off on how much Purity liked being used by his cock, how eagerly she submitted to his coarse and vigorous fucking. In that night she let him do everything to her that his limited imagination could think of, plus things which her own much more fertile mind dreamed up.

"See you again?" he asked, the next morning.

"Not a chance!" she told him, and kissed him goodbye.

And so began her sexual adventures. The pattern repeated itself over the next few years -- Purity loved a man who used her like a whore, but with women she liked to be the one in control. This found its way into her persona -- arrogant yet sometimes submissive, haughty and naughty, in control but ready to surrender. Her sexual experiences were the basis for many of her songs and videos. And Purity had a lot of sexual experience. She fucked bandmates, rivals, fans, then as her career developed, record label execs, TV presenters and even a few movie stars of both sexes.

Of course, she was careful not to be too explicit about her bisexuality. And the tabloids were subtle enough not to confirm that the "gal pals" she partied with were any more than drinking buddies while clueing in her lesbian following and hinting to her male fans that she was into hot girl-on-girl action or even up for threesomes.

The morning's threesome had been fun -- just the right mix of dominating and being dominated for her, and the corporate whore secretary had been a most accomplished cunnilinguist. But now it was time for work.

Purity went up to her penthouse apartment, and started stripping off her clothes, flinging them on the floor as she went. She had cleaners and housekeepers to look after such things. Naked, she entered her bathroom and showered thoroughly before spending an hour luxuriating on a hot bath. Afterwards, she ate a light meal while preparing for the evening's show. She packed her costumes and her guitars, and called the chauffeur up to take them to the limousine.

Cheryl the chauffeur was a new employee. Blonde, statuesque, buxom if a little chubby, and rather cute in her uniform with its padded shoulders, tiny mini skirt and high heels. Purity admired her strong legs as she walked to the car carrying several suitcases and guitar cases with ease.

Cheryl stood by the limo door, ready to open it.

"Or would you rather sit up front where you can stare at my legs some more?" She asked cheekily.

Purity reached out and grazed her long fingernails up Cheryl's nyloned leg from ankle to the hem of her skirt. The chauffeur opened the passenger side front door for her. During the drive, she let the skirt ride up higher and higher, and Purity did indeed spend the journey ogling her legs, the flash of pale flesh above her stocking tops, the play of those strong muscles. She decided that one day soon Cheryl would be taking her for a long drive into the countryside. And once far in the middle of nowhere, Cheryl would pay a most delicious price for teasing her employer like this...

At the venue, staff were ready to help her get inside and set up. She was shown to her star dressing room and there started to get ready for the show. It was For The Kids, the inaugural evening of a charity gala raising money for youth charities. All the performers were giving their time for free (and for the good publicity, of course) and it was to be a star-studded occasion. Easy enough, just a short three-song set. Still, Purity wanted to do a good job. She went through the sound check, and retired to her dressing room to put on her costume. She had brought a range of outfits, but in the end decided on one of the more moderate ones. A black PVC mini dress with a zip down the front from its high collar to the hem. She teamed it with white tights and purple platform-soled PVC knee boots, of a shade that matched the purple of her hair. She looked striking in it -- she looked hot, her legs showcased and her body glistening in tight PVC. She would be using her favourite white and purple guitar. Her look was kinky, but not -- by her standards -- slutty. Perfect for a family show.

Soon she received the call to go on stage. She took a last drink of water and headed out. As she went up to the backstage area, the previous act was coming off. Bobby McRobbie, a popular family comedian, was sweating from the lights. He looked at Purity in her dramatic stage gear and leered shamelessly.

"Phwoar, you're looking alright! Fancy a drink and back to mine after?"

"I'd rather drink piss, old man!" she sneered, and with that scornful attitude and resentment at his sexism simmering in her veins she went on stage.

She was great -- she herself recognised it was a great performance. She ended with her first hit, Who Am I? It was an anthem and a mission statement, uncompromising yet vulnerable, and it went down a storm.

After the show, there was an obligatory line-up to meet the royal party who were attending. The heir to the throne shook hands and was rather too interested in her costume ("I say! That really fits you like a glove!"), his wife was lovely, the younger royals seemed to have enjoyed her performance.

Once that was over, Purity returned to her dressing room. As per her rider, there were snacks and ice cream, and a fridge full of booze waiting. Thirsty and unfussy, she opened a can of strong lager and took a swig. Just as she was about to take off her stage gear and have a shower, there was a timid knock on the door and a nervous flunkey was there.

"Sorry to disturb you Miss Purity, but there's a visitor for you -- one of the royal party!"

Purity steeled herself to have a leering middle-aged prince leching over her until she could get away. She thought to herself: "Might as well let him get an eyeful!" And stood with one leg up on a low table, turned so that her arse and tits were well displayed when her visitor arrived. She took another long draught of beer, so that when he arrived he would get the full disdainful "punk princess" attitude.

The door opened, and to her surprise, Purity's visitor was not the old prince. Instead it was his niece, Princess Abigail. One of the "cool Royals" as the tabloids called them, she was like Purity in her early twenties. She wore her dark red hair long, and was wearing a respectable two-piece skirt suit in pale green.

Purity lowered her drink, looked over the young princess. Elegant, slim, with wide green eyes and fair skin. An aura of privilege and wealth attending her like the expensive perfume she wore. And yet, there was a look in her eyes that Purity knew well. A mixture of hunger and fear, a disbelief at being so close. A need she could not express. Princess Abigail was a fan!

Purity stepped down from the table, and stepped up into character as her stage persona. She acknowledged the princess with a curt nod.

"Want a beer? Or a vodka, or JD?" She remembered there were also soft drinks.

"Or some coke?"

The princess looked wide-eyed at her, then stammered: "N-no, thank you!"

Her voice was that sharp, nasal screech that only the very most aristocratic or royal people use. Still, it was not unpleasant. She carried on:

"You were amazing tonight! I think you're brilliant!"

Purity was used to gushing fans. She smiled modestly. "It did go well, yeah. The band were great, it was a good audience. Did you like the choice of songs?"

"Yes, I did -- but you didn't play my favourite. I really love My Tomorrow, from your last album."

"Oh, that's interesting. Not the most obvious choice, but I always liked it myself. Let me know when you're going to be at one of my gigs, and I'll make sure to rehearse it for you. Might even give you a shout-out!"

"Oh, gosh! I'm afraid I've never been to a -- what you'd call a gig. Not really approved of, unless it's somewhere with a royal box!"

"Too bad. You look like you'd have a lot of fun in the mosh pit!"

As she spoke, Purity realised that she was appraising the young royal as she might any pretty fan. If she was at the front of the stage, bopping up and down in a T shirt plastered to her with sweat, would Purity give her the eye, perhaps have a security person discreetly invite her backstage afterwards? She might. The woman was stunningly pretty, and now, looking in more detail, her body was amazing. Fantastic legs in the pencil skirt and nylons she wore, broad hips and pert arse, slim waist and what promised to be an impressive pair of breasts beneath the respectable suit jacket and crisp blouse. And she had a tense, excited, nervous air about her -- the air of a young woman kept too tightly confined and needing to break free. Purity decided that Princess Abigail was exactly the sort of fan she would be happy to get to know better.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Perceptive, too. Purity shrugged.

"Because you're beautiful. And you're, like, my most famous fan!"

"Oh, I'm not famous. Not for anything. Not like you. You're great! So cool! And your music -- I listen to it a lot when I'm on my own, at home or in my car. You have the attitude I wish I had -- you want it all, on your own terms, and you're going to get it! And yet, sometimes, your songs are all about how vulnerable you are and I really feel like you could be writing about me, you know? Anyway you must hear this sort of thing all the time, but I love your music and it really speaks to me!"

"Hey, it's great to hear that, Abi!"

Her royal training came into play, and without thinking the other woman replied stiffly: "Your Royal Highness, please!"

"Not to your friends, I bet?"

"N-no."

"So?" Purity looked steadily at her. She nodded and said:

"Very well. You may call me Abigail...Purity!"

"That's better, Abi. And hey -- I'm the Pop Punk Princess, remember? We're sort of equals! Are you sure you don't want an extra-strong lager?"

Laughing, Princess Abigail shook her head. The ice had been broken though, and the young women enjoyed a conversation about music, fashion, and life in the public eye. After a time, Abigail stood up and explained that she had to go.

"Before I do though, there's something I'd like to ask, about one of your songs. You know in Who Am I? you sing 'I'm the bad girls' mistress, I'm the bad boys' toy'? Is that -- I mean -- are you singing about -- er, swinging both ways?"

She was blushing.

Purity laughed. "Yeah, Abi. Yeah, that's exactly what I'm singing about. I like boys and girls. And with girls, I like to be the one in control."

Abigail was breathing heavily, clearly nervous -- or aroused.

"What's it like? With a girl?" She asked.

In response, Purity reached out and took her hand, moved it up to the collar of her dress, and hooked one long, cool, slim, manicured finger into the silver hoop that held the zipper closed. She curled the finger around the metal, took her own hand away.

"Find out!" She challenged.

There was an electric silence. A silence broken only by the purr of the zip fastener as Abigail started to pull it down to open the dress.

Purity gasped in surprise at how bold the princess was. She had acted on impulse and not thought whether Abigail would really go through with it. She felt the PVC dress start to peel away from her body, felt it opening all the way...and then felt it zipping back up as Abigail hastily reversed her movement and closed it.