The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 06

"Mission accomplished," said Pete. "Now let's rock the fuck out of this town."

The lights changed; they crossed the road and headed into the venue. Their gear was already set up -- all the band needed to do was plug in and do a quick soundcheck. Twenty-four cold bottles of a local Toronto craft beer waited on a table backstage for them, along with a chilled, unopened bottle of Iceberg vodka from Newfoundland. Pete ripped the seal off the vodka and took a deep, satisfying slug before passing it around. It burned like cold fire on the way down.

They were due on stage in half an hour, and as they waited for the crowd to swell, the six men swapped tales about their week in Canada. Their roadies had worked hard for Ass To Mouth, but they'd also spent time building connections for their own musical careers.

The bottle moved around the room, and A2M's bass player slugged a serious amount of vodka. He looked at Pete, the other half of the band's rhythm section. He levelled his eyes, rustling up the courage to say what he needed to say. "You and Carlos are fucking, right?"

Nobody said anything.

"And you've been rooming together," the bass player continued, "and when we were in Ottawa, we couldn't find you, it felt like you were in a completely different hotel to us, and ..."

"Yeah," Carlos interrupted. "We've been fucking." He threw a possessive arm around Pete's shoulder. Pete felt a little uncomfortable and squirmed away, knowing he still had unfinished business to settle with Ace.

The venue's stage manager interrupted. "Five minutes," he said.

Their conversation ended on an awkward note. Carlos grabbed his gig bag and headed to the bathroom to get changed. He came back out a few minutes later, wearing his tall fuck-me boots and his tight daisy dukes. He took a final swig from the near-empty vodka bottle before burying his tongue deep in Pete's mouth. His hands reached down to grope his drummer's ass.

Pete responded by gripping Carlos's jaw, pulling his face into him.

Everyone backstage saw. There were no secrets anymore.

"Let's fuckin' rock!" Carlos shouted. He strolled onstage and his bandmates followed. The bass player wasn't completely sure how he felt, but he found a way to mentally put it aside while they played.

Their fifty minute set was heavy metal gold. Every note, every chord, every riff and every beat landed perfectly. The crowd roared, and Carlos ran offstage knowing that this was the best gig Ass To Mouth had ever played, without a shadow of a doubt.

The band dived into the case of local craft beer. A2M's bass player wrapped one forearm around Carlos's neck and his other around Pete's in a gesture of understanding and acknowledgement of their connection. The three of them clinked bottles.

The headline act took the stage, but most of the crowd had left already. Word of mouth had travelled fast; most of tonight's crowd was here just to watch A2M play.

The bar manager came backstage to settle the evening's accounts, and Carlos signed where required. Before retreating, the bar manager introduced the woman standing next to him.

"Hey," she said, introducing herself, waving her plastic tits in Carlos's face. Carlos wasn't the slightest bit interested in her. "I'm Candii, from Swallow Records. I really enjoyed your set tonight. I've been watching you guys since your show a week ago in Montréal." She looked around the room to address the whole band. "You boys rock hard. You're as tight as fuck. I'd love to get you into the studio."

She bent over to retrieve a document from her bag. Her tight skirt rode up, exposing her panties. She thrust the document into the bass player's hands. He immediately passed the hot potato to lawyer-in-training Pete.

Pete was covered in sweat, having pounded the helldrums into submission for the best part of an hour ...

... the vodka and beer in his system ...

... he quickly flicked through the pages ...

... alcohol and adrenalin fought for superiority in his bloodstream ...

... he tried hard to concentrate ...

... Carlos watched as Pete scanned the document ... he couldn't help noticing a bulge in the front of Candii's tight skirt ... he and Candii locked eyes for a meaningless split second ...

Pete looked up from the document. "You're gonna screw us, aren't you?"

Candii shrugged. Her record company screwed everyone. "Look, do you want some free studio time and some free publicity, or don't you?"

Pete wasn't clear. "Are you offering us studio time because you want to release us?"

"If you're good enough," she replied. "I wouldn't be standing here wasting my time if I thought you were shit, but let's find out. This contract, if you sign it, doesn't claim copyright of your songwriting publication rights, but Swallow will own the master copies of any sound recordings you make on our dime. Just to be clear, if you sign, the intellectual property in anything you record will belong to Swallow."

"You know we're not Canadian, right?" Carlos questioned. He glanced back down at her bulge.

"Yeah," Candii replied, hitching up her skirt. "You can record in Atlanta. We've got connections with a studio there. We'll pick up the tab, but I might fly down to supervise, just to make sure Swallow is getting value for money."

Pete nodded. He found a pen and scrawled his name. The other three members of Ass To Mouth followed suit. Candii signed, as a duly authorised representative of Swallow Records, and the deal was done.

A2M were now officially signed to an obscure Canadian record label. Candii lodged the signed contract in her bag before pulling out a blank duplicate copy of the document. She handed the copy to Pete. "For your own records," she explained, and Pete nodded in understanding.

Before Candii left the room, she thrust her business card into Carlos's sweaty palm. "Call me," she whispered, her fingernails tickling the palm of his sweaty post-gig hand. "We can talk business," she said, fluttering her fake eyelashes as she moved her botoxed lips tantalisingly close to Carlos's. "Or we can talk about anything else you want to discuss." She let her hand drop by her side before gently touching Carlos's crotch. "Anything you want ... anything at all." She licked her pink lips seductively.

"I'm not into women," stated Carlos.

"Suits me fine, stud," Candii replied, heading towards the door. She lifted her skirt and flashed her semi-erect cock at him. "But you can go ass to mouth with me anytime."

She left the room, closing the door behind her with a bump of her fat ass.

Fuck.

The band and their roadies finished their backstage beers before heading back to their hotel. They all hoped to get a good night's sleep before tomorrow's flight home. Their Canadian tour was over, but maybe A2M got what they set out for -- a record deal.

Did this feel like 'mission accomplished'? Carlos wasn't sure. He and Pete sat on the backseat of an uber, headed towards their hotel. The other four members of their party travelled separately. Carlos had thrown a thick woollen sweater over the top of his naked torso to keep death at bay.

"Are you OK with all of this, Pete?" asked a nervous, fretting Carlos.

"All of what?"

Carlos waved his hand through the air as if signing something with a pen. "The ... contract. I signed, but I didn't read it. I trust you. What have we committed to?"

Pete nearly exploded. "Are you fucking serious?" (The driver jumped, startled. He knew they wouldn't get a five-star rating on the app.) "What did you plan a Canada tour for, to dodge snowdrifts and get frostbite? I thought you organised this whole thing to put our band on the map ..."

"I did," Carlos interrupted. He paused in thought, and Pete waited. "That was my hope. I hoped we'd get some recognition and some interest, but I never expected we'd get signed."

"Well, wake up, Mexico boi. You're on a contract."

Carlos smiled. "And so are you."

"And it's the best offer available," said Pete. "You know how I can tell? Because it's the *only* offer available." We're not fuckin' Metallica, you know. We don't get to pick and choose. We take whatever we can get."

They fell into each other's arms on the backseat of their uber, hugging, smiling and crying. "You're 100% right, Pete," sighed Carlos. "Thank you."

The car pulled up outside their hotel. "Are you two gentlemen OK?" asked the driver, genuinely concerned.

"Yes," Carlos replied, smiling through his tears. "We're perfectly fine. And thank you for the ride, we really appreciate it." He closed the car door quietly and respectfully.

They walked towards the lobby, knowing that they were heading home tomorrow with a record deal in their pocket. They rode the elevator in silence.

They walked down the corridor, and Carlos swiped his room key.

"Fuck, dude," yelled Pete, "we signed a contract!"

Carlos smiled. "Yeah, man. We did."

Reality began to intrude. "They're gonna screw us somehow, Carlos. You know that, right? We're contract virgins, we don't know all the tricks and loopholes ... but they do."

"Yeah ... I know ... but right now, I don't care."

They faced each other. Carlos sniffed one of Pete's armpits. "Fuck, dude, you need a shower."

Pete grinned. "I've been playing the drums."

Carlos sniffed deeply again, just to be sure of his assessment. "Yeah, I know. I can tell."

"You wanna clean me up?" teased Pete.

Carlos stepped forward, jamming his tongue deep in Pete's mouth. "Te amo," he whispered. He broke the kiss and looked deep into Pete's beautiful Irish eyes.

"I love you too," Pete replied.

Here, right now.

Here, in this Toronto hotel room.

"I love you, Pete," Carlos declared. "I'm not kidding around. I can't get enough of you."

Carlos would forever be in love with the memory of Gorilla, but since his passing, that's all he'd ever be -- a memory.

Pete gazed deeply into Carlos's eyes. "También," he whispered in rudimentary Spanish.

Carlos delicately, yet forcefully, guided Pete to their hotel bed. Their stinky post-gig bodies thrashed around as they undressed each other. Sweaty clothes were strewn all over the room.

They lay side by side, holding each other, and as Pete looked deep into Carlos's beautiful, dark, Mexican eyes, he couldn't help cracking a smile.

Carlos noticed the mischievous look on Pete's face. "What?"

Pete did his best Phil Collins voice. "I can feel it, fuck me in the ass tonight, Carlos."

Carlos cracked up laughing. "You've just killed my erection, dude," he smiled.

"I know how to bring it back," Pete said, rolling on top of his bandmate. He gripped Carlos's naked shaft. "Liar," he joked. Carlos's cock was still as hard as steel.

Pete sucked his bandmate's cock into his mouth. Carlos placed both hands over his face in sheer disbelief that a blowjob could ever feel this good. It felt like Pete's mouth, tongue and hands were sending him to heaven.

"Pete, you're so good at this ..."

"I've been told that before," Pete modestly replied, taking Carlos's cock out of his mouth for a brief second. He plunged his throat back down onto Carlos's dick, wrapping his long tongue around his bandmate's balls.

Carlos placed the heel of a hand on Pete's forehead, pushing him off. "Pete," he panted, "you're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that."

Pete smiled the smile of someone truly ecstatically happy as he scooted up to force his tongue deep in Carlos's mouth. "I want to feel you inside me," he seethed.

Carlos stroked his wet dick, just to make sure he was ready. Pete's legs were spread wide, and Carlos fucked him missionary style. Their hands gripped each other's faces as their tongues smashed against each other.

Pete broke the kiss for a moment, pushing Carlos's face away from his. In the moonlight, he looked up at Carlos's face, thick with desire; eyes closed, mouth wide open. He felt his bandmate's hair tickling his chest as a drop of Carlos's saliva involuntarily fell from his lips, landing directly in Pete's mouth.

Pete's hand wrapped itself around the back of Carlos's neck, pulling him close again. "Fuck, dude, you feel so good inside me," he whispered.

"I'm gonna cum, dude," Carlos admitted, his jaw slack.

"Wait," said Pete. "I've got an idea. Something we've never done before." He forced Carlos's painfully erect cock, ready to burst, out of his pussy. A thin stream of sperm-infused precum escaped Carlos's penis -- he was *that* close.

Pete rolled Carlos onto his side, and repositioned himself so their cocks were in each other's faces. Pete sucked Carlos into his mouth and began stroking him. "Fuck, dude," said Carlos. Pete moaned as he felt Carlos's Mexican dick fucking his face.

Carlos wrapped his hungry lips around his drummer's cock and sucked hard, stroking it to the brink.

Carlos felt Pete's juicy mouth swallowing his brown meat.

Pete felt Carlos's hands and tongue coaxing him towards orgasm.

They exploded into each other's mouths at the same time. Carlos lost his mind as his balls twitched, firing volley after volley of hot seed down Pete's throat. And in response, Pete lost control, shooting all over Carlos's sexy Mexican face.

Pete was thinking only about Carlos. But as Carlos fired his load into Pete's mouth, a thin, momentary flicker of Candii's presence flashed across his consciousness. Her inflatable plastic tits, her botoxed lips, her tight ass ...

Seconds passed before Pete placed his head on his pillow, next to Carlos.

They lay in each other's arms, staring at each other, catching their breath.

Pete had gulped down Carlos's entire load, but Carlos's face was painted with his drummer's seed.

Carlos prepared to begin his confession. "Pete, I ..."

"Shhh," said Pete, placing a finger upon Carlos's sperm-drenched lips.

They lay in each other's arms for long, elastic minutes. Moonlight cascaded through their hotel window. Their faces were wrecked.

Carlos gazed deeply into Pete's eyes before kissing him. At first, it was just a tender, gentle peck on the lips, but within moments, it had progressed to a serious game of tonsil hockey.

They were due to fly home to Atlanta's humidity tomorrow morning. There'd be no more snow there.

"Wait," said Pete, breaking the moment. "I need to check my phone."

"What for?" Carlos asked.

"To make sure I've set an alarm. I don't want us to miss our flight home tomorrow." Pete knew they had a late checkout, but they didn't want to miss their free hotel breakfast. "OK, so I've set an alarm for 9.30am," he declared. "And now I think I need to take a shower."

He heard Carlos snoring peacefully as he padded towards the bathroom.

Their flight back home was mere hours away. Pete showered and dried himself off before climbing under the covers beside Carlos. From a musical perspective, their Canadian tour had been successful beyond their wildest dreams.

Pete stared at the ceiling. There were some difficult conversations ahead. Pete genuinely loved Ace, but he also genuinely loved the Mexican hunk snoring next to him. He knew he couldn't have both. He knew he had to choose, and nothing in his life so far had prepared him for this. He was never popular, he was never in demand, his sexual life had been perpetual frustration and he never thought he'd land a serious boyfriend.

How wrong he was.

And now he had a decision to make.

It wasn't easy.

And he didn't know that Carlos, fast asleep next to him, was dreaming about fucking Candii's pink lips.