The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 13

Backstage, Candii approached Carlos. Ass To Mouth were about to go onstage. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Carlos wasn't sure what she meant. "You mean after last night's dinner? I'm fine ..."

"No, no, not that," interrupted Candii, "I meant ... just ... how are you feeling, in general?"

"I feel awesome, Candii. I'm still coming to terms with the fact we're just about to rock Miami Beach. This is 100% fucking unreal. I thought we'd be playing at a seedy basement bar tonight, but never in my wildest dreams did I think we'd be playing on the fucking beach!" He paused for a second. "There's only one downside."

Candii's brow furrowed. "What's that?"

"No bate room," Carlos joked.

"Authorities wouldn't permit it," Candii replied with a poker face. "I tried to get it approved. They said the concert was cool, but a platform stacked with naked men masturbating would breach city code."

Carlos laughed, imagining the scene at City Hall when the paperwork arrived.

"Would you mind if I introduced you to the crowd tonight?" asked Candii.

"On behalf of the band, we'd love you to," Carlos beamed.

Candii's pink Botoxed lips smiled broadly. "You ready to go?"

Carlos glanced over to his bandmates. "Yeah."

Inside, Carlos had been ready for this moment all his life.

Candii grabbed a spare microphone and ran onstage as fast as her ridiculously high heels would carry her. "OK, Miami," she said, floodlit in the middle of the stage, "on behalf of Swallow Records, thank you so much for coming tonight, and we hope you're having a fucking blast! We've got something very special for you right now. All the way from Atlanta, Georgia, making their Florida debut, here's Ass To Mouth! Make them feel welcome, Miami!"

The lights dimmed as Candii ran offstage and A2M ran on. The crowd roared. Carlos's guitar was draped over his shoulder. He plugged in, and his amplifier responded with a short blast of edgy static buzz. "Hola, Miami!" he screamed into his microphone. Pete counted the band in, and for the next hour, they rocked the world. Ass To Mouth weren't well known in Florida, but tonight, the crowd went ballistic for them. They ran offstage to stomps and cheers.

Ace remembered their most recent gig at Eternal. He sidled up to a sweaty Carlos backstage, throwing a friendly arm around his shoulder. "What was that you said in Atlanta the other night? About Boipussy being a hard act to follow?"

Carlos smiled, towelling his hair down after the experience of a lifetime. "This is your hometown, dude, everyone loves you here. We just played Miami fucking Beach, and it's gonna take days for that to sink in. You're about to do the same. Try to remember every single moment you're out there."

Ace was so fucking ready for this. His heart was beating fast.

Candii ran onstage to introduce her boyfriend's band. "How awesome were Ass To Mouth?" The crowd surged in response, and she waited for the reception to die back down before she spoke again. "And now, Miami, on behalf of Swallow Records, here come your own homegrown metalheads, and tonight's headliner, Boipussy!"

Ace led his bandmates onto the stage. The band tore into their set and the crowd went bananas.

It only took two tunes for the chant to start. "Take it out! Take it out! Take it out! Take it out!"

Ace pleaded ignorance, but word had travelled fast. "I don't know what y'all are talkin' about," he deflected before counting the band into their next number.

Two songs later, it started again. "Take it out! Take it out!"

"Aw, c'mon, Miami ... what's the world coming to? Can't a dude play a rock show with a buttplug up his ass anymore?"

"Take it out! Take it out!"

Ace was gonna lose a lot of toys at this rate. He leaned forward, flicking his hair out of his face, teasing the crowd. "You sure you want it?"

The crowd were insistent. "Take it out! Take it out!"

"I'm gonna have to start signing these fuckers with sharpies before I shove them up my ass," he drawled. "Might be worth something on ebay."

Ace took a moment to drink in the scenario. He was in front of his band, on a stage on Miami Beach, with a few thousand people screaming for the thick piece of plastic that was currently buried deep in his stinky, denim-clad mancunt. "Hold your horses, cowboys. Sit tight. We're gonna play a few more tunes for you. And *then* y'all can have your prize."

The crowd roared as Boipussy rocked the beach with more hot licks.

"I know y'all want it," a breathless Ace intoned between songs. He began to unbuckle his belt and pull his jeans down. He bent forward, teasing the crowd with the top of his buttcrack before pulling his pants down to his knees, exposing his entire ass. He began to extract the plug. "This one sits a little deeper than my last one," he admitted, "and it's a little girthier. I threw my best toy into the crowd back in Atlanta. Wait, fuck, give me a sec," he said, beginning to pull it out. "Fuuuuuck," he whispered into the mic, breathing heavily. "Fuck, this one's wide as hell," he moaned, "but man, it feels so fuckin' good inside." He changed his mind, pushing it all the way back in. "Nah," he grinned, "if y'all want this shit, y'all can fuckin' wait some more." He pulled his jeans back up and counted the band into their next song. The tip of the plug brushed against his prostate as he slithered and writhed across the stage.

"Thank you, Miami, you fuckin' rock!" screamed Ace, with one more song to go. He knew he'd never forget tonight. "Wait a sec, I need to sit down for a minute." His intention was to play their final song naked from the waist down, but as he sat on the edge of the drum riser to pull his jeans off, the plug went right up his ass, resting tenderly on his prostate. A pool of delicious precum soaked his boxers. "Fuck," he breathed, eyes rolling back in his head, and thousands of people in the crowd knew exactly what had just happened. "Feels so fuckin' good, y'all," he whispered into the mic. "We've still got one more tune for y'all, but to be honest, Miami, I think I just wanna sit here until sunrise with this thing up my ass." Comically, he turned to the wings of the stage. "Anyone back there got a laptop full of gay porn?" The crowd laughed.

Eventually, Ace pulled his tight jeans off and threw them into the crowd. His pockets were already empty; his wallet and phone were safely stored backstage. "Check this out," he teased, bending forward, showing off the fat piece of plastic jammed halfway to his lower intestine. "Y'all want this, don't you?" The crowd seethed and surged. "We're gonna play one more tune, but for our last trick, I need a volunteer from the audience. Ideally, a sexy ass metalhead who loves to suck dick."

Desperate hands waved in the air, and Ace chose. "You," he said, pointing to a cute, skinny, sweating, long-haired man pressed up against the barricade. "You want some of this?" Ace waved his sweaty, precum-soaked dick in the air as security helped the fan up onto the stage. The crowd roared as the fan ran onstage. "What's your name?"

Boipussy's sexy frontman held his mic in front of the dude's face. "I fucking love you, Ace," drooled the fan.

Ace gave him a sweaty hug. "Thanks, that's sweet, but what's your name?" Ace put his mic under the fan's nose again, and while the fan gave his name this time, nobody heard him clearly. It didn't matter. "You know what our last song is?" asked Ace. He held mic in front of the fan's face.

"Hot Load!" screamed the fan.

"And you know what usually happens when we play this tune?"

"Yeah," yelled the fan, "you jack off all over the stage."

Ace threw his arm conspiratorially around the fan's shoulder. "Well, that's true enough usually, but tonight's gonna be a little different, my new friend," he said. "Tonight, I'm gonna jack off into your sweet fuckin' mouth."

The crowd went nuts.

"You up for that?" Ace asked.

The fan nodded. He wanted Ace to paint his face.

Boipussy kicked into gear as the fan sank willingly to his knees, sucking Ace's stiff boner into his throat. Halfway through the tune, Ace jerked his shaft and shot his load onto the fan's hungry tongue, moaning into his microphone. "Show the crowd what you got there," he yelled. The fan opened his mouth, drooling Ace's precious nut all over the stage. Ace finally pulled the plug out of his twitching, sweaty boipussy and gave it to the fan.

Security escorted the fan, holding his prize, back into the crowd just as Boipussy arrived at the final chorus of their final song. The floodlights burned down as Ace's spent, wet dick waved in the warm, humid sea breeze. "Hot load!" he screamed as the band crushed their final chord. The crowd went ballistic as Ace and the rest of Boipussy ran offstage in search of beer.

Candii ran over to him. "Oh my fucking god, rockstar, that was the hottest rock 'n roll show I've ever seen in my life. Watching you pull some random dude out of the crowd and making him suck your cock in front of thousands of people on Miami Beach blew my fucking mind."

"I didn't make him suck me," Ace replied, "he wanted it." He paused for a second, thinking. "We've still got one more show to go, don't we?"

Candii nodded. "Yep. New York City."

Ace upped the ante. "Next time, it's your turn."

Candii nearly swooned at the suggestion. "You sure know how to push my buttons, rockstar." She reached down to touch her boytoy, seductively biting her bottom lip. "You're gonna get it so bad once we're back at the hotel, boy."

*

Later that night, Pete and Carlos showered and lay side by side in bed, mentally reliving their unbelievable day. Down the corridor, Candii forced Ace to his knees and fucked his face, exploding deep in the back of his throat. She threw him onto the mattress like a rag doll and rimmed his hole before fucking him with the biggest, fattest dildo she'd brought with her on tour. She pressed a button at the base of the toy and deep vibrations began to purr deep in Ace's tender pussy. Ace's eyes rolled back as the pleasure of submission possessed him, and it didn't take long for him to fire a thick load of creamy sperm onto the mattress.

Candii prised the dildo out of his ass and lay down beside him, stroking his hair and back. "Did you like that, rockstar?"

Ace tried to respond, but all that came out was a series of soft moans. That was easily the biggest thing he'd ever taken in his boipussy. It hurt, but the toy's vibrations sent him way over the edge. He loved every second of it.

He realised he'd drooled all over his pillow.

Candii felt like she was forming a real connection with Boipussy's frontman, but she also knew that rock 'n roll tours weren't real life. She'd only known him for two short, unusual weeks. It was way too soon, and the best thing she could do right now was to stay in the moment, enjoy her time with him, and not get too far ahead of herself. Besides, she was Canadian -- she and Ace lived in different countries. She hoped things would work out after the tour was over, but if they didn't, she'd move on. She shrugged to herself on the inside, knowing there were plenty more rockstars out there if Ace wasn't interested.

She stroked his beautiful hair, and he fell asleep face-down, his cock marinating in his puddle of cum. She waited for his breathing to deepen and settle before she took a shower. She dried her hair and climbed into bed next to him.

*

Today was a big day. As the bands and roadcrew congregated around the breakfast buffet, nerves were thick. Last night's show on the beach still hadn't sunk in, but there was no time for memories just yet: they were headed to the Big Apple.

"Have you ever been to New York before?" Carlos asked Pete.

"Nuh-uh," Pete replied, his mouth full of cereal. He watched as Carlos destroyed a plate of eggs, grilled tomato and hash browns. "What about you?"

"Me neither," said Carlos. "Isn't it weird that we've been to Canada, but we haven't been to Manhattan?"

"It's a big bad world out there," said Pete, sipping his coffee. "Soon enough, we'll be playing London, Paris, Tokyo and Sydney."

This was only just the start.

Ace showed up for breakfast, his ass feeling a little worse for wear after Candii's dildo destroyed him last night.

"You're walking a little strange, Ace," Pete observed. "Everything OK?"

"Think so," Ace replied stiffly. His ass still felt like an airplane hangar.

Candii arrived, clipboard in hand. Her long hair cascaded down her back. "OK, if I could have everyone's attention, we're gonna leave for the airport in about twenty minutes, so make sure you've got all your belongings with you. We've arranged another charter flight, and we'll be landing at JFK around three. Our final show is tomorrow night, and I'm keeping the venue a secret for now. But just while we're all gathered here together, I wanna say this has been the best tour I've ever organised. It's been a huge success for Swallow Records, and I'm sure it's been a huge success for all the bands on it." She paused for a second. "Sorry," she said, wiping a tear from her eyes, "I'm not very good at this." She sniffled a little. "It's been so much fun for me, and I'm gonna miss you all when it's over..."

Ace stood up gingerly and wrapped his arms around Candii's waist. "Thanks," she whispered, grabbing his hands for a sweet moment. She wiped her eyes, gathered herself, and snapped back to mission. "Buses are leaving in twenty, get your shit together." She turned on her heel and walked away.

Ace looked a little emotional too, but neither Carlos nor Pete knew what to say to him. They boarded the bus. Miami airport was surprisingly normal (even though prices were extortionate, at least there was no hardcore gay porn on the newsstands -- yes, Ace checked) and the plane took off on time.

The captain turned the seatbelt sign off, and Pete reached into his backpack to retrieve the copy of Rolling Stone he'd bought at the airport. He opened the mag, flicked past the first dozen pages of pointlessly expensive advertising that nobody ever paid any attention to, and began to read.

He heard a deep, mysterious voice reverberating inside his head. "Greetings, Pete. I hope you are well."

Pete turned the page, ignoring the unexpected intrusion. Maybe he'd just imagined it.

"You cannot push me away, Pete," said the voice. "You may try, but you will not succeed."

There was no mistaking it; there was a presence inside Pete's head. "Who are you?" he thought.

"You know who I am," replied the voice. "I am Samael, of Hypnosissy. I am inside your mind."

Pete shivered. "Leave me alone," he thought.

"I cannot and will not," came the voice, "for it is my mission."

Pete cried on the inside. "What mission?" he thought. "What have I ever done to you?"

"You have done nothing to me," came the voice, "and you have done nothing to deserve my presence in your mind, but these facts matter not."

Pete tried to ignore the voice, concentrating on his reading material. There was another boring article about yet another argument between Slash and Axl Rose that nobody in the world could care less about, but Pete tried to focus on it like it was the only thing left to read in the world.

"Ignore me at your peril!" boomed the deafening voice in Pete's head. "Fear me, for I have the power to destroy you!"

Pete was frightened, wondering if he was going insane. "What do you want from me?" he thought.

He heard Samael's voice again, deep inside his consciousness. "I compel you to close your eyes, breathe deeply and relax your mind. What do you see?"

Against his will, Pete's eyes closed. All his mind could see was Axl and Slash in the sixty-nine position, their dicks buried in each other's throats. Axl was on top. He hoped Slash managed to get his thick, curly hair out of the way before Axl exploded in his face. "If you're inside my mind," Pete thought, "surely you know what I'm seeing."

"I do," came the voice. "Good boy. Focus."

Pete's eyes remained closed. "What are you doing to me?" he thought. Despite the terror of feeling someone else's presence inside his mind, his cock was hard.

"I am turning you gay."

"Are you fuckin' serious?" thought Pete. "I already *am* gay. I've been gay my entire life. I've never been interested in women. Vaginas and tits don't do anything for me. When we played Texas, I let a bunch of dicks run a train on my face while your band was onstage, and I'm engaged to a dude. Like, if you're gonna invade my mind, how could you not know this stuff already? Do your homework, man. You're inside the wrong dude's head. Go turn Kanye gay instead. Shouldn't be too hard."

The presence inside his mind immediately vapourised and disappeared. Pete opened his eyes to see Candii, the trolley dolly, rolling the drinks cart down the aisle. "Another quarter bottle of bourbon?" she smiled as she reached for the Beam.

"Maybe just a beer today," Pete replied, grinning. The Hypnosissy curse was gone forever.

Candii uncapped a cool bottle of Brooklyn Pale Ale and delivered it with a smile. "Enjoy!" she said, moving to the next row.

Pete stared out the window. They were way above the clouds now: the sky above them was a clear blue, with a thick layer of fluffy white beneath them. He took a sip of his beer, feeling the liquid slip down his throat, into his stomach, and eventually into his blood stream. He relaxed, taking a deep breath as he reopened his magazine. He skipped past the Guns 'n Roses article. Yesterday's news.

Carlos sat down next to him mid-flight, and Ace sat on the seat in front of them. Pete poked his magazine into the seat pocket, and for a while, the three dudes chatted away like they'd known each other their entire lives. Eventually, as New York City approached, the seatbelt sign was re-illuminated and passengers were required to resume their allocated seats for landing. "See you on the ground," said Carlos, kissing Pete on the lips. "Te amo."

"I love you too," Pete whispered.

Their approach into JFK was a little uncomfortable and bumpy, but soon enough, they were on the tarmac, taxiing in towards the gate. Buses ferried the party to their hotel in midtown Manhattan.

Pete looked out the window at the street below. He could faintly hear the muted sounds of afternoon traffic. "I can barely believe we're here," he said. "I've wanted to come to New York City my whole life, and ... like ... there's so many things I want to see and do, but we're only here for one night, and then we've got our final gig tomorrow, and then ... and then ..."

Carlos moved across the room to embrace his partner. "And then, there's the rest of our lives."

Pete took a deep breath. "I know."

"So don't fret it."

"I know."

"We can come back here any time we want."

"I know."

"You've got half a million bucks in the bank," said Carlos, "and I can take time off from Eternal whenever I need to."

"Yeah."

"So let's just enjoy today and tomorrow." He stroked Pete's cheek.

Pete took another deep, settling breath. "OK," he whispered, collapsing into his boyfriend's embrace.

There was an unexpected knock at their door. Carlos opened the door to find Candii and Ace outside. "What the fuck are you two doing?" demanded Candii. "We're in New York! Life is short and time is precious! C'mon, let's go out!"

Carlos and Pete threw their denim jackets over their shoulders and headed out into the corridor where Candii and Ace were waiting.

They caught the elevator to street level. Candii stood on the sidewalk and whistled loudly. A taxi pulled up immediately. "53rd and 6th," she commanded. The boys piled into the back seat and the car sped off. A few minutes later, they pulled up outside the Museum of Modern Art, a place Pete had always wanted to visit. "Come on," Candii said, standing on her high heels, "it closes at six o'clock, so we only have an hour or so."