Twisted Transistor

All participants in this story are 18 years of age or older.

I walked through the front door and dropped my backpack on top of my shoes after kicking them off. I was almost done with this. A few more months of school and I'd never have to see any of those fucking pricks again. Thomas and his pack of assholes with their superiority bullshit, Erica and Halley's never-ending rumor mill, and once I was two thousand miles away from here there'd' be no one that ever heard of my raging bitch of a sister.

All of it was Lucy's fault, from the beginning. My sister was borderline psychotic and when she wasn't tormenting me at home, she was making life a living hell for whomever she could at school. Even two years after she graduated, people were still calling me "Devil's Little Sister" and holding me somehow responsible for her behavior. I wasn't even going to Northbrook when she was already breaking up relationships and friendships by sliding herself down any willing dick she could find.

It was the first spring day nice enough to wear a dress, and I had. Nothing slutty, just black with flowers, sleeves, and the hem hung down to my knees. Nope. For the last eight hours, I'd been called names, glared at, whistled at, and full-on groped in the lunch crowd. I couldn't even hit the jackass because, as of winter break, that was now assaulting a minor. It's not like I was the only girl in a dress today, just everyone's target. I felt numb and so fucking cold inside. So lonely. Nobody understood because they all thought they already did. There was one thing that always did, though.

I drifted up the stairs to my bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I leaned back and took a deep breath. At least there was safety here--safety and, soon, music. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I connected to my wireless speaker and then prepared to anesthetize myself. I took a seat on my bed, a small tray by my hip with the materials I had used to roll a joint, and the speaker in front of me resting between my knees. I hit play on my phone and sparked the ganja, taking a deep drag and letting the sounds help drown out my day. A discovery I'd made years ago was that when it felt like nobody cared or understood, the music do.

Deep bass and angry vocals that felt like they were singing directly to me. Singing only to me. I turned the volume up a bit and focused. Pushed. Fought against the numbness. It won't hurt a bit, I always heard, and feeling something was better than nothing. Bullshit. If I let it, this fucking world would eat me alive. As the mix of music and smoke finally broke through the barrier, my chest felt like it was caving in. I opened my eyes as the first tears escaped, sending them rolling down my cheeks and feeling them hit my dress and the tops of my breasts. When I knew that sobbing was close behind, I laid back and my legs crossed on the mattress.

As my legs pulled in farther, they took the speaker with them. I didn't notice until the next song started with a strong bass rift and I felt the music on my skin against my panties and it reverberated up through my body. I gasped and opened my eyes, which were still leaking, as the vibrations threatened to rile my lust. I turned the volume up again and the vibrations grew more intense. I squeezed my thighs together and could feel the music, the words, in my body. The song died down as it ended and I took a deep shuddering breath. This was new, using a speaker, but I didn't have time to contemplate as the next track began and brought the vibrations back with it. I turned the volume up yet again and grabbed the speaker with my hands. The music reached up inside me, filling me with pressure, preaching to my growing sexual urges.

My soft moans were lost to the music filling my bedroom and body. I ground my hips against the speaker while pressing it harder against me. Lost to the song and carried by pleasure, my breath was growing harder. Release was on the horizon when, again, the song changed. I was almost disappointed, but there was barely time to think before heavy metal blasted my clit and a long moan crept out of my lungs. I leaned back, holding my speaker, and my hips twitched as the abandoned wave was caught and rising again. The song, the angry words, the sound in my ears coming from inside and out. I'd yet to have another person make me feel this way, but the music do. As the drummer entered a solo, the orgasm finally began to crest, and with the rejoining of the band, my scream was a whisper as my body shook.

The speaker laid back on the bed as I did the same. I was a mess, with my knee still twitching, breathing hard, and the crotch of my panties damp, but the release, and especially the music had me feeling light and floaty. I knew I'd be doing this again. Because I'd remember that when it seemed like no one cared and nobody had my back, the music do.