Practice Makes Perfect

By: Morgan Rae

(A Fake Fiancée Romance)


What is it about rock-n-roll that makes people so horny?

My vanity rocks rhythmically against the wall of my dressing room. She’s moaning while her nails dig into my back as I thrust hard inside of her. Sweat drips down my bare chest and my pants hang halfway off my hips, the belt buckle clicking against the dresser.

Maybe, if I had a drop of insight and the ability to separate myself from the situation and watch like a ghost from above, I’d be able to see how depressingly cliché this is. All it takes is a little internal inventory to see that I’ve become boring over the past couple years. I’m a workaholic; I live and breathe and dream in beats and rhythms. If I’m not playing the strings of my guitar, I’ve got my fingers deep inside a gasping groupie. The tabloids love to wax poetic about my twisted little conquests and, right now, I’m feeding right into it. But Marian moans like an angel when I pivot my hips just right and hit that sweet spot inside of her. Fuck if it doesn’t feel good to be a stereotype every now and then.

No matter who I’m inside, for me, it’s always about the music. Even when my reputation unravels like a poorly knit sweater behind me, my music speaks for itself. Beyond the backstage, through the curtains, a sold-out amphitheater still pounds with the applause of thousands of fans who can attest to that. The electricity of the show still hums through my veins and I find myself compelled to harmonize with the crowd. I plunge my cock deeper inside Marian to the tempo of the applause. We’re fucking in quarter notes.

Her palms smear my mirror as she braces herself against the vanity. “Oh God, just like that,” she whimpers. In the mirror I see her eyes shut tight in pleasure and her mouth falls open in a long, drawn out moan. My long dark hair falls around my face like a curtain. I have sharp features, iceberg blue eyes, a Nordic nose, and arms strapped with muscle. A tattoo of a flame bursts up my arm, another tattoo in the shape of an X rests over my heart. This is a body I’ve spent a long-time perfecting, sculpted under the guidelines and instruction of my manager and record company. I am the face of ResurrXtion and I have to look the part.

She’s getting close to her climax, but I’m not finished with her, not yet. I’ve always been a sucker for a slow-build crescendo. I pull out of her and my erection points skyward, wet with her need. “Turn around,” I command.

Marian does as she’s told. Like many of my fans, she’s alternative, her dark hair stained with pink tips, her ears punctured with rings. She’s an hourglass of a woman and I love her curves. I want to see the full visual when I cum. In a single movement, I lift her and set her down on desk of the vanity. She wets her lips and her eyes sweep over me hungrily. I’m familiar with that look, that holy-shit-I’m-fucking-the-lead-singer-of-ResurrXtion look, but I can’t say I’ve ever gotten used to it. I’m not ashamed to admit it’s a major fucking turn on.

I watch her face as I ease myself back inside of her. She’s hot, tight, and so slick. Her eyelids flutter shut as she sighs deeply.

I demand her full attention, I grip her hair tightly and force her to look at me as I pound her against the vanity mirror. “You’re sexy as hell,” I tell her. I can hear the grit in my voice. “Do you know that? You’re a bloody masterpiece.”

“You’re…so hot…” she says between my thrusts. Her nails dig into my bare shoulders hard enough to leave marks. It’s not a proper fuck if someone gets out unscathed, so I respond in turn. I bite the soft flesh of her throat before working red hickies into her tits.

She cries out. The vanity clicks in rhythmic beats against the wall. I listen to everything, the skin slapping against skin, her gasps in time with the thrust of my hips. I’m losing myself to the music of our bodies in harmony. My balls grow tight against my body and I’m on the edge of release, but I hold back. The OCD part of me won’t let me get off until she does first. I need to finish what I started.

“Open your mouth,” I tell her. When she does, I stick my fingers in her mouth and shove them in to the knuckle. She doesn’t gag, she just looks at me with those preciously lustful eyes. “Suck,” and she does, so lewdly it makes my cock twitch inside of her.