Rolling with the StonesbyWet Miranda©
I must confess, I don't like much new music. (Except for Electronic and Techno stuff, I love dance music like that.) No, I mostly like the old stuff. Think Tom Cruise dancing in his underwear to Old Time Rock and Roll by Bob Seger. Better yet, think of me in my pink thong and no top dancing to Old Time Rock and Roll. That sums up my musical tastes. Especially the Stones. I LOOOOVE the Stones. And I must confess again...I think Mick Jagger is hot. Sure he's a bit wrinkled and old enough to be my grandfather, but he's a rock star, and for some reason when a guys a rock star he looks hot no matter what and gets my pussy wet.
So, I like to imagine what it would be like if I was a groupie at a Rolling Stones concert.
The arena is huge. Somehow I was blessed with front row tickets. Front row tickets at a fucking ROLLING STONES show! Jesus. I dress real slutty, because I have a crush on Mick and want him to invite me backstage after the show. I'm wearing a tight slutty black shirt. And I mean TIGHT, it was so hard to squeeze my breasts into the shirt. It's mostly see-through.
Tight slutty cuttoff jeans. Acid washed. Rips in the back pockets so you can see some ass. No stockings, just lots of bare leg. Just a pair of beat up sneakers for shoes...I wanted to wear sexy high heels, but that didn't seem practical for a concert.
He opens with "Start Me Up." (Did you know that in the lyrics he says "You make a dead man cum?" No shit.) He starts up my pussy early with the first guitar lick. Then he plays "Satisfaction." He's complaining he can't get no satisfaction. Come to Miranda, baby, I think to myself...I'll show you satisfaction. Then "Let's Spend the night together." Did you read my mind, Mick?
Then its some slow numbers, like "Ruby Tuesday" and "Angie." I sway my body, looking that sexy old rocker in the eyes. His ballads make my heart melt. I want to take him after the show so bad.
Ahh, fast paced music again. "Jumpin Jack Flash." "Gimmie Shelter." "Paint it Black." What can I do to get his attention? Should flash my tits? That seems so cliche and cheesy...of course I do it! Look over here Mick, these are for you! I pull my shirt up over my tits and shake them around. He doesn't seem to notice, I think. Probably because he is a little busy playing songs for 50,000 people.
More song, and I am getting so hot and sweaty. My black tank top is soaked with perspiration. I am drinking cheap beer. People are passing around joints. Someone offers me a shot of Jack. I never do shots. But this is Rock n'Roll, gotta do it. I slam it down and yell "WHOOHOOO!" A middle aged guy who looks like one of the Hell's Angels asks me to "Flash yer titties again, baby!" " So of course I do. "Sympathy for the Devil" is playing in the background. I lift my shirt up yet again and even let him feel them. He squeezes them kind of roughly. Would Mick do that, or would he be gentle?
The show ends. People are leaving. I'm never gonna meet Mick, let alone fuck him. Then an usher grabs my hand and says "Come with me." I ask him were are we going, and he says "A member of the entourage told me to get you. Seems like one of the band members wants to get to know you. At first I'm dissappointed. One of the band members? What about Mick Jagger? Then I realize that I might be sleeping with a member of the Rolling fucking Stones, I shouldn't complain.
They take me back-stage and a guy with a suit and blond hair walks me out the back door. He points to a cab and says "The driver already knows which motel to go to. The room number is 812. Don't tell anyone the room number, we don't want the Papparazi."
I am expecting a nice fancy hotel, after all these guys are rich. I am shocked when he drops me off at a sleazy no name motel. It is only one story, no frills, and looks like the kind that people meet at who shouldn't be meeting, like lovers having affairs. How can there be a room 812? Wouldn't that imply an 8 story building at least? I walk around, there are only about 30 rooms. Then I see a familiar face peek out the curtain of room 113. I recognize him from the band.
I knock at the door.
I can't beleive this is happening. Ron wood answers the door. "What have we here?" Keith Richards asks. The other band members are passing around God know what and smoking it. The room is trashed. It is small, there are whiskey bottles and cheap beers everywhere, the room is hazy with all kind of smoke, and they are blasting some blues music on an old beat up tape player. Why are they living like this when they are so rich? I ask them why they aren't staying at a nicer hotel, and they say they like to return to there roots. "When I was a lad in Chelsea I would have dreamed of a nice spread like this!" one of the band members tells me.
And then it hits me. This is the way I want it. Sleazy. Rock n'roll fantasy. I want to get down and dirty with them. And they know that a place like this will attract a dirty girl like me. They get me to slam more shots of Jack. I sit on the bed, not sure what to do next.
We don't chat much. They just start pawing at my clothes. My tank top gets torn even more from the rip under the breasts. Evidently, they find this amusing, and Keith rips it all the way off while laughing like a maniac. Ron pulls down my pants, which is hard, because they are tight. Another band member I don;t know pulls off my panties. They draw straws to see who goes first. Literally. They have short straws from doing coke.
They screw me one by one, roughly. Not painfully rough or anything, but this isn't tender love-making, this is hard core triple x fucking. They fuck my brains out from all positions: doggystyle, missionary, with me on top. Hands all over my tits fondling me, and hands squeezing my butt. They take turns touching my pussy lips while I am already being fucked!
Then I give them each a blow-job after they recover from fucking me. They take turns sitting on the one nice chair in the room and I crawl on my hands and knees like a total slut and suck their dicks.
They hold my face and pump in and out of my mouth. I let them come on my body; some on my tits and some on my face. It feels so wicked to be such a rock n' roll slut for one night.
At about 5:00 A.M., I ask Keith where Mick is. "Oh he's too high an' mighty to stay here with us bums. Bloke thinks he's better than us. He's over at the Hyatt. Room 812, penthouse."
"Then how did I end up here?" I ask. "I gave tha Cab-driver $100 and told him to send ya here instead!" he booms while laughing.
I can't be dissapointed though, after all, I did rock with the stones.