The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 10

Ass To Mouth arrived in Austin the day before the first show. Candii, the rep from Swallow Records, spared no expense, booking the entire touring party into the most expensive hotel in town. The bands checked in while their roadcrew transported gear to the venue for tomorrow's performance. A2M's roadies used the time to get to know the roadcrews working for other bands. It was going to be a tight couple of weeks, and if this thing was going to be a success, everyone needed to be on the same team.

Pete and Carlos perched on stools at the hotel bar, each with a cool beer in front of them. A little later, the other two members of A2M showed up and they each grabbed ales of their own. They chatted aimlessly for a while before Carlos dropped the bombshell -- he and Pete were gonna get hitched.

A2M's bass player and their other guitarist congratulated their bandmates on getting engaged. They were genuinely happy for them both. They understood now why Carlos and their drummer were such an inseparably tight unit on the Canadian tour.

Their bass player's initial reaction was 'a married couple in the band will make us stronger'.

Their other guitarist immediately thought of Fleetwood Mac. If you know, you know. If A2M could sell as many records as Fleetwood Mac did, he'd gladly deal with the emotional fallout when Carlos and Pete inevitably broke up. They'd write suggestively nasty yet commercially successful love/hate pop songs about each other, and the fat royalty checks would roll in for the rest of their lives. Yep, he could definitely live with that.

Inwardly, each of A2M's four band members felt nervous about the next two weeks. They weren't about to play a one-off show at Eternal, where everyone in the crowd knew them. And this wasn't a mini-tour of Canada either, a place where they were completely unknown and where it probably wouldn't have mattered all that much if they failed. This was somewhere in-between, somewhere much more challenging, with bigger crowds. This was a serious roadshow, the kind of tour they'd dreamed about since the band first formed. There was pressure: the band's career could potentially die from word of mouth following a bad show.

On the flight to Austin, Carlos read a book about Prince. In his early days, Prince was a very nervous performer, sometimes throwing up before taking the stage. Carlos was surprised to learn this. He'd always thought Prince was a supremely confident performer, completely at ease with his own stage presence. Apparently, whenever he felt nervous, Prince's secret weapon was to pretend the audience just wasn't there, imagining he was rocking out in his local rehearsal room or in someone's garage.

If he felt anxious tomorrow, Carlos was gonna try to put this theory to the test.

Six bands were on the bill, and even though they'd played with Boipussy many times and knew them well, they didn't know anyone in any of the four other bands they'd be spending the next two weeks with. Sure, they'd listened to them online, so they could at least talk about music backstage, but that's not the same as meeting face to face. Pete desperately hoped the other bands weren't douchebags. Egos can easily get out of control in the music business, even at this low level.

Both Pete and Carlos were looking forward to seeing the headliner, Hypnosissy, perform. They liked the music of all four bands, but they were into Hypnosissy's sound the most. They sounded dark, brooding, insistent and hypnotic.

A thirsty Ace showed up at the hotel bar, fresh off a short flight from Miami, in search of a cool drink. He saw A2M gathered at a table, but they didn't see him. He tiptoed across to where they were sitting and grabbed Carlos's waist from behind.

Carlos nearly jumped off his stool in shock before he realised who it was. He turned around to greet Ace with a gigantic smile and they hugged.

"What, is that all I get?" pouted Ace. His long blonde hair fell down the back of his tight denim jacket. "Gimme a kiss, Carlos!"

Carlos pressed his lips to Ace's. Ace grabbed Carlos's jaw and forced his tongue deep into his mouth. Carlos was initially surprised -- they were in a hotel bar! -- but he eventually submitted.

It was enough to make Carlos's dick twitch. Even the bartender, watching from afar, popped half a boner.

"And who do I find over here?" asked Ace rhetorically as he slinked towards Pete. "Fuck, sexy dude, so good to see you again!" Ace ran his hands through Pete's shoulder-length red Irish hair and kissed him just as hard. Pete rammed his long tongue so deep into Ace's mouth it nearly made him gag.

Ace broke the kiss, coughing slightly. "I forgot your tongue was a weapon of mass destruction."

Pete blushed. "Sorry, Ace. And sorry to your tonsils, too."

Carlos motioned for Ace to join them at their table, moving an unused stool across from an adjacent table. He waved at the bartender and a cool beer arrived. They all knew Swallow was picking up the tab. Ace took a seat between Carlos and Pete.

"I don't know about you boys," Ace began, wrapping an arm around each of Pete's and Carlos's waist, "but it feels like I'm on the cusp of the best time of my life. I can't thank you enough for putting in a good word about us to Swallow. We're well aware that Boipussy isn't as well-known as Ass To Mouth ..."

"We're not very well-known either!" Carlos interrupted.

"... that may be true, Carlos, but if it wasn't for your good words and your sincere, kind references," Ace boomed comically, "Boipussy would not be here." He raised his beer. "I just want you to know how grateful we all are."

Pete chuckled. "Under normal circumstances, you could express your gratitude by buying us a few beers, but unless I'm mistaken, the record label is paying for everything."

"Don't get me wrong," said Ace, necking half of his beer, "I mean, I'm never gonna say no to free drinks, but how am I gonna thank you instead?"

"In the time-honoured tradition." Carlos was keen to see how Ace might interpret his cryptically vague suggestion.

Ace disappeared under the table with the singlemindedness of a man on a mission. Pete felt a pair of hands pushing his knees apart, and two sets of fingers manipulating his zipper.

Carlos watched Pete's facial expressions closely. He moved onto Ace's vacant stool so he could sit next to his boyfriend.

Pete's jaw suddenly dropped, and Carlos assumed Ace had taken his boyfriend's shaft into his mouth.

In an attempt to project a semblance of normalcy, conversation at the table continued, though Pete himself had momentarily lost the power of speech. By now, all four members of Ass To Mouth had worked out exactly what Ace was doing under the table.

"Fuck, dude," Carlos whispered into Pete's ear, "this is the hottest thing ever."

Pete looked helpless. His hands balled into fists. "He's gonna make me cum so fucking hard," he seethed. "I don't think I can hold it back."

"Fuck yeah," Carlos replied. "Give it to him. Flood his mouth."

Pete felt it beginning to build up. Ace was under the table and out of sight; there was no way to warn him. It kept building, and building, and building.

It felt like an elastic band snapped inside Pete's balls. He'd rarely cum so hard. He tried hard not to moan as his thick load pumped down Ace's throat, but he couldn't help it.

Ace coughed a little before he swallowed. He resurfaced, licking his lips. "Is there any cum on my face?" He resumed his stool and casually sipped his beer.

"Yeah, just a little," said Carlos, "just outside the corner of your mouth."

Ace grabbed a napkin and dabbed his face.

Pete packed his wet cock back inside his pants and zipped himself back up. His nuts were empty and his dick was spent. His ex had sucked him completely dry.

Other than Pete, everyone around the table was hard. Carlos resisted the temptation to jack off in the bathroom.

This was gonna be a good tour. This was gonna be a huge couple of weeks.

Ace finished the rest of his beer, washing the remains of Pete's load into his stomach. He made a show of swilling it between his cheeks before swallowing heartily.

Carlos tried to ignore his raging boner by trying to pull the conversation back on track. "Hey Ace, have Boipussy got any merch to sell?"

Ace wiped his mouth again, glancing edgily at Pete. "No, not really. We don't even have copies of our demo CD with us. We're just here for a good time, and for the ... exposure." With this, Ace stood up and unzipped himself. He flashed his semi-erect cock for a second or two before zipping back up again. "Got any ideas?"

"Huh?" Carlos replied. He was still thinking about what Ace just did. He remembered the time he got himself fired from a shitty office job by flashing his cock in his boss's face. He didn't last until lunchtime before security confiscated his pass and frogmarched him out of the building.

"About merchandise, dude," said Ace. "Maybe we can get some t-shirts printed up?"

"T-shirts are an awesome idea," Pete decided. Money was no object. "What would they look like?"

"OK. I've been thinking about this for a while." Ace ventured over to the bar and returned with two cardboard beer coasters and a pencil. He began to draw. Pete looked across, impressed with his outlines. He leaned in closer, resting a palm on Ace's shoulder.

Ace passed the finished sketches around the table. The centre of the design, destined for the front of the t-shirt, showed the base of a buttplug buried in an anus. A pair of fat cheeks were clearly visible, as was a heavy set of balls, which ruled out the possibility that this was a female ass. The top left-hand corner of the design displayed "ASS TO MOUTH" in capital letters, while the right-hand corner said "BOIPUSSY". The back of the t-shirt, drawn on the second beer coaster, said "COCKS OUT!" in capitals, and a series of horizontal lines underneath were intended to display the tour venues and dates.

"The t-shirt will be black, of course," Ace explained, "the image of the ass and balls on the front is grey lines on a square white background, the base of the buttplug is pure black, and the text is light purple."

Carlos was impressed. "That looks fuckin' awesome, man. Your sketches are incredible. We'd be honoured to share our first band t-shirt with Boipussy. But can you make this happen? Can you get these made in time? Like, overnight? First gig is tomorrow, dude. There isn't much time."

Ace looked uncertain. "Maybe. I know a guy who knows a guy, so let me see if I can pull a few strings. I've got software on my laptop and it won't take me long to get a prototype design. If you trust me, I can try to get a small print run done by tomorrow, and we can scale up for later shows."

"Make sure to get some bigger sizes," said Pete. "We get a lot of chubby guys at our shows. Metalheads aren't all rakes like you, Ace."

Ace turned sideways in a comical disappearing act. He'd spent many years studying the biomechanics of guys who were into heavy metal. "I know, Pete. Trust me on this. We'll split costs between both bands." He paused for a second, scanning the table. "We good?"

Four fervent nods from the members of A2M.

"Then I'm gonna get started on this now," Ace declared, before retreating to his hotel room to work on the layout. "The clock is ticking. See you sexy cunts tomorrow at the show. I can't fuckin' wait to get on stage."

Nobody from A2M stayed up late. Tomorrow was a big day.

Candii, the record company's rep, wandered into the hotel bar a little too late. She'd been anticipating a big night but was disappointed. She wondered where all the hot boys had gone tonight.

Pete and Carlos retired to their hotel room, though the 'room', if you could call it that, was probably bigger than either of their apartments. Neither of them needed anywhere near this much space. All of their gear was entrusted to the roadcrew, probably on a truck somewhere nearby. All they carried with them was their own personal luggage. This room was rockgod size. They weren't sure why their record company had booked such an unnecessarily large room for them, unless they were planning to host a party in it.

Neither of them were in the mood for festivities tonight. Tomorrow loomed large. They showered and climbed into bed. They each wore t-shirts, but they were both naked from the waist down. Neither of them were hoping for nor expecting sex; their only hopes were for a good night of refreshing sleep before a big day tomorrow.

It felt a little warm, so Pete flipped on the aircon. Carlos watched the TV news for a few moments before turning off his bedlight. He flopped onto his back. "We need to go to sleep," he stated.

"I know," Pete replied, "but I'm not tired yet. Turn the TV off, it's a distraction."

"We need to be fresh for tomorrow," Carlos persisted. He hit the remote, the TV fell silent, and their room was enveloped in darkness.

Pete stared at the ceiling, wondering when sleep might eventually arrive. "I know," he repeated.

"We should try to go to sleep."

"Yeah, I know," Pete said again. "You said that before."

They each lay on their backs, side by side, waiting impatiently for the sandman to enter. The cool of the aircon brushed across their chests. They felt frustrated, and Carlos caught himself frowning. Nobody in the history of the world has ever frowned themselves to sleep. He sighed and rolled onto his side, facing his boyfriend. He ran his fingers through Pete's hair. "I guess I'm just feeling a little anxious about tomorrow."

Pete nodded, rolling over to face Carlos. "Yeah. Me too."

Carlos continued to stroke Pete's thick, luscious hair. Their eyes met through the darkness. "I want you so fucking bad right now."

Pete melted, and their faces smashed against each other as if in war. They gripped each other's jaws, forcing their tongues into each other's mouths. Pete reached down and found Carlos's fat Mexican shaft. He stroked it a few times while his tongue remained buried in his boyfriend's mouth. "I know how to help you get to sleep," he whispered, before crawling under the bedclothes.

Carlos braced himself for the hurricane.

Pete impaled his face on Carlos's cock, burying the entire length of his boyfriend's shaft in his throat. Apart from essential services, Carlos's brain had completely shut down. His hands were entangled in Pete's hair. "Oh my fucking god, Pete, you're gonna ..."

Pete stroked hard and sucked even harder.

"Pete, I can't ... I'm fuckin' gonna ..."

Carlos's balls tightened. Pete knew the signs. He prepared to swallow.

Carlos's dick let loose, and Pete gulped down the torrents of his boyfriend's salty-sweet semen. His work for the evening done, he scooted back up and kissed Carlos on the cheek.

A kiss on the cheek wasn't enough for A2M's lead singer. He rammed his tongue into Pete's mouth, tasting his own load.

Pete stroked Carlos's beautiful hair. "You gonna sleep now, my sexy Mexican?"

Through the darkness, Carlos gazed at the beautiful Irish face that'd just devoured the contents of his balls. "I think so."

"We're gonna fuckin' rock the shit out of Austin tomorrow," whispered Pete.

"Fuck yeah. And thank you for proving yet again that you can make me cum in less than a minute."

Pete closed his eyes as the taste of his boyfriend's sperm echoed on his tongue. "Te amo, Carlos."

Carlos drifted off to a peaceful sleep with Pete's arm draped across his torso.

*

Austin threw down some good weather for the first show of the COCKS OUT! tour -- blue skies, and temperatures around 75. It was the perfect day for an outdoor festival, and thousands of long haired metalheads poured through the turnstiles. Most of the crowd knew who Hypnosissy and Femboy Hooters were, and some knew Beta Clinic and Kuntlapper, but hardly anyone had heard of the other two bands on the bill. But that's the cool thing about festivals, right? Everyone gets to rock out to the bands they know and love while discovering new ones.

The Boipussy/A2M t-shirt consignment arrived. Ace had arranged for 50 to be printed and delivered -- there was no point overcommitting before they'd even played the first show. Carlos thought Pete's design came out even better than he'd expected, especially for something so last-minute. It looked perfect.

The bate room -- a dedicated room on the side of the venue where men could jack off and watch others doing the same -- was quiet early on. A curious few had checked it out early, but at this state of the day, nobody had undressed, let alone jacked off. It'd need a critical mass to truly fire up. Most of the crowd nursed cold beers, congregating around the on-site bars.

Around half past one, some of the audience began to drift toward the stage in anticipation of the metal onslaught.

Boipussy were first act on stage at 2pm. Nobody was pressed up hard against the barricade, but the crowd showed curiosity and interest. The band chugged out a slow, sexy riff before Ace took the stage, microphone in hand. The band sounded tight, and the crowd responded, loving this new band nobody had ever heard of.

Ace scanned the crowd and noticed all the cowboy hats. More cowboy hats than he'd ever seen in his life. Well, they were in Texas, so it made sense. Maybe Boipussy's first record, if they ever got a chance to make one, should be called 'Cowboi'. He mentally filed that thought away.

Fat buttplug firmly in place, Ace gyrated all over the stage for 40 minutes until it was time for the band to perform their final song. "We loved playin' for all you sexy motherfuckers today," he yelled into the mic, "an' we hope you enjoyed our show. We're from Florida, but we fuckin' love Texas, an' we're gonna come back soon! Maybe some of you sexy cowboys can take me back to your ranch and show me a good time." The crowd cheered. "But in the meantime, we got somethin' we wanna leave y'all with."

The small but growing crowd surged.

"We're gonna leave y'all with a sample of my very own DNA."

Ace threw his long, blonde hair back. He unzipped his jeans and unplugged his ass as Boipussy lurched into "Hot Load". He held his dripping wet buttplug up to the crowd like a trophy. He fished his cock out of his denim and began jacking himself off. Just as the band reached the final chorus, Ace shot his load all over the stage. The cowboys went wild.

Candii was backstage, watching the show on CCTV. Boipussy's frontman was as hot as lightning. She got hard. She wanted him.

After a short interval, Ass To Mouth took the stage. All four band members felt anxious, and a technical problem early on didn't help. Carlos's guitar didn't sound right. He suspected there was a problem with his amplifier, but he couldn't try to fix it in the middle of a song. The band continued to play, but the technical issue put him off his game. He glared at their roadcrew, not sure what was wrong, who to blame or whose fault it was, but looking at the crowd, he sensed there was a distinct lack of connection. The crowd weren't into them at all. Everything sounded dull, like music through water. He couldn't hear his riffs at all, and it felt like the band was sinking into metal quicksand. He turned back to try to catch Pete's eye to see if his boyfriend had noticed anything amiss, but Pete was in the zone, completely oblivious, pounding the helldrums as if everything in the world was on satanic fire. Pete didn't need to hear Carlos's guitar through his in-ear monitors, just his vocals, so he didn't even know there was a problem.

Carlos couldn't follow Prince's advice. He couldn't pretend the audience wasn't there. They were standing there right in front of him. Some of the crowd looked confused, and just as many looked bored. He felt too rattled to think, and their performance was becoming embarrassing.

One of their roadcrew raced onstage to flick an errant switch, and Carlos's amp shot back to life. Almost immediately, he saw a swarm of metalheads bobbing up and down in time with the music. Problem solved. He grinned from ear to ear. Fuck yeah. This is what heavy metal is all about.