CHAPTER ONE
Mason
Another pair of lacey lingerie sailed through across the stage and smacked Trent on the leg.
Ten points!
Trent, the front-man of our band, Alpha Prime, snarled over his shoulder at me. I laughed and kept banging the hell out of the drums because it served him right. After all, my buddy was playing to the crowd. Just minutes earlier, he’d drenched his white T-shirt with a bottle of water and then ripped off the fabric, displaying a rock hard chest and abs.
The asshole was good-looking, even I had to admit.
Bronze skin. Sculpted. Hard muscle everywhere.
And of course, the ladies ate it up, screaming like banshees. They were practically losing it right before us because Alpha Prime is bona fide rock star catnip. If you think the females went wild for the Beatles or New Kids on the Block back in the day, then you’re almost in the ballpark.
We’re ten times that. Fifty times more magnetic.
And the ladies are insane. They go hog wild, ready to sell their firstborns to get their hands on a pair of our concert tickets. Mothers and daughters, hell, even grannies in the crowd were losing their minds, not to mention their panties.
Because our female fans never have any self-control when it comes to their favorite rock stars. Lingerie? Oh, please. That’s just the beginning. Last week, we got back to find two nude girls swimming in our pool, slick and wet like slippery, hairless otters. Plus, Trent threw gasoline on a raging fire, cannonballing into the pool with a roar.
Yeah, this is the life. The rockstar rage that makes us unstoppable. Throwing my head back, I let out a howl to the delighted squeals of the all-female crowd. Sweat poured down my face and the beat pounded through my hard, muscled body. Everyone wanted a career like ours. We owed it to the fans to give it our all.
So yeah, life is good. Better than good. The best. After all, for the past few years, I’ve been the drummer for the hottest band on the scene, with money, girls, and cars galore. Everything at my fingertips.
The guys and I have been on magazine covers. We have billions of dollars in the bank. Plus, all three of us have been on every hot bachelor list in the past five years. We were on top of the world and rockin’ it like kings.
Mostly.
“Alpha Prime!” a group of girls screamed from the front row while flashing their tits.
“Choose me! Eeeee!” hollered another chick, eyes wide and hair wild.
I should have been on top of the world. Yet incredibly, inklings of boredom were beginning to make me dizzy. Right there on stage under the hot spotlights, things were starting to get dull. It seemed impossible, but never say never. Because after five years of dodging dirty panties and every filthy proposition in the book, easy sex was getting old. Maybe you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, but right now, I wasn’t jumping on the carousel.
If I was attracted to skinny, anorexic-looking groupies, then the rock star life would be perfect. That wasn’t my scene, though, because scarecrows did nothing for me. I like them plump and curvy, with a sweet smile and innocent ways.
Nonetheless, there was money to be made. Winking at the ladies like a Lothario, I hooked the panties out of the air with my right hand, all the while hitting the cymbals with my left.
Oh yeah. I got this whole thing down.
The girls in the audience screamed louder as more lingerie flew at us. It was a blizzard of lace and leather.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” I growled into the mic along with Nick, our bass player.
We were on fire tonight and the packed amphitheater shivered and shook. I banged on the drums even harder, creating a storm of beats. The music was thunderous and passionate, but I wasn’t really into it.
It’s sad, really.
Creating and performing is one of my only gifts. Ever since I was a little boy in the basement banging out sloppy beats, it was clear to me that I was meant to be a drummer. The music is my muse, my destiny, and my lover all rolled into one.
It’s the audience that gives me the blues. Screaming, noisy, emaciated chicks don’t give me the rush I need. Not anymore.
But again, there’s money to be made. In the music business, giving the fans what they want is half the battle.
“Tighter, baby!” was my shout, the chorus to our latest hit. “Harder, baby! Yeah!”
I waved a drumstick in the air and twirled the bright purple panties around them. They were practically child-sized. The chick who'd tossed them had to be a double zero—possibly smaller.
Are there negative sizes?
Regardless, it was a show and these women had paid to be entertained. So I flashed my signature smile and killer sapphire eyes, all the while tattoos rippled up my back and arms.
Of course, the females screamed like crazy. That was always the reaction. A balled up piece of paper landed near my foot—probably some girl’s phone number.
Meanwhile, Nick ripped into his bass guitar, scowling. His naked chest rippled with muscle under the lights, blue ink snaking up his arms in two full sleeves.
Shit, that fucker is scary.
The asshole was a beast, like he was ready to start a fight with anyone who dared cross him. The tattoos and the scowl were all part of the look, though, ladies eating it up like the sweetest cream.
Plus, he was an animal on bass.
The girls couldn’t get enough of him or that ink of his. They loved the bad boy persona and the take-no-prisoners frown that decorated every magazine cover. Females screamed even harder, ear-splitting shrieks buzzing in my skull.
But Nick isn’t like me and Trent. He refused to cater to the ladies. Instead, the dude scowled at the audience, declining to touch a single pair of panties that sailed his way.
Of course, the reverse psychology tactic worked like a charm. The girls adored him even more for it, screaming his name hoarsely, waving their arms and jumping up and down. They acted like teenage groupies seeing their favorite band.
Funnily enough, we were their favorite band. I don’t know if it was for the music or our look, but they loved us. The women certainly weren’t young, though. All of our shows were only for people eighteen and older—for obvious reasons.
“Knock it off, dude!” Nick snarled at me once he turned his mouth away from the mic.
“Grow a set and give the girls what they paid for,” I growled right back, drumming away with a pair of panties slung around my wrist. “They don’t come here to watch you glare at them!”
Some of them did, though. Without Nick’s signature scowl, we weren’t Alpha Prime.
Suddenly, a flash in the audience caught my eye— somebody's diamond ring maybe. There was just enough light for me to see a woman in the front row drag off her underwear, struggling in the crowded space. Elbows must have hit her head and torso. There wasn’t much room in the darkened pit below.
Even after that, the blonde was unstoppable. She held the crotch up to her nose and breathed deep like a junkie before winding up and pitching the thong straight at Trent in a whirling fastball.
Growling about sex into the microphone, my buddy stepped back, ducking like a pro.
Smooth, real smooth.
The audience couldn’t tell, but Trent was obviously grossed out, but not because the girl wasn't pretty. Hell, any stroke mag would have made her a cover model. The blonde had it all: big hair, big tits, and puffy lips in a perpetual “O”.
That’s just not our type. We like ‘em real all around, curvy and luscious, and this chick needed to pack on another fifty pounds—minimum.
I grunted as another thong came flying Nick’s way. It was seriously getting out of control, like a hail of missiles from World War II. We were taking fire down in the bunker—except the fire was in the form of tiny, little panties.
My bro was losing patience fast. Not even bothering to hide his revulsion, he scowled and stepped back, his expression one of murderous rage.
That poor motherfucker.
I swallowed laughter, looking at the stage floor to hide my reaction. Our fans didn’t want to see me react in such a way. Rock stars living the dream weren’t supposed to duck and cover, but it was all that we wanted to do.
Go figure.
But it is what it is. Doing this shit keeps the dollars rolling in. There are miles of money and rivers of cash pouring into our bank accounts each and every second, especially during a tour. So of course, we feed the beast, playing every show with our shirts off, glistening with sweat. Playing shirtless was our agent's idea back in the day, but it had become a trademark. Hell, it’s practical too, considering how damn hot it is on stage.
The rest of the show was fiery and high-energy, with Trent tearing it up on the mic as usual.
After it was over, we stumbled off the stage, high from the music, the energy from the crowd sparkling like electricity across our skin. Performing is addictive. The vibe is more potent than cocaine, or what I imagined cocaine was like, anyway.
The only problem was: my brain was dead.
We’re performers, though. The brain-dead feeling afterwards was always worth it. You gotta give ‘em what they came to see.
“Hell yeah!” I growled, my swagger turned all the way up as we strode towards the dressing room.
An answering mewl sounded.
“Oooh Mason!” came the whimpering cry. My head jerked back to take a look around.
It was impossible to see who’d spoken the words because girls lined both sides of the wide hallway. Their hands were reaching out to touch us, their backs arched to show off their assets. Fortunately, our security guys have always been good at keeping them away. Growling and grimacing, they were giant slabs of muscle acting as a barrier between us and the females.
We don’t want them near us. Keep them away.
The girls were a blur before my eyes. Every single one of them was nearly naked with those fake tits of theirs pushed up and out. Eyelashes were like wild caterpillars and stick legs poked out from under miniskirts. Once upon a time, I could appreciate a good pair of booty shorts, but the ones that my fans wore had ruined that. I didn’t want to see their flat asses and neither did the Nick or Trent.
I thought America was known for big girls. Why are all of these females the same?
Where were the curvy chicks? The ones with racks so big that my hands could barely grab them? The ones with big, soft bottoms?
All of the females were the size of mice. I often refer to them as “microscopic women”, because they’re so small that you can’t see them from far away. One ninety-pounder wiggled her tongue my way, flashing a silver piercing. Disgust filled my veins.
Get some meat on your bones, girl, and then maybe we can talk. While you’re at it, stop doing the whole skank thing. It’s not working for you.
Soon, we were in the privacy of our dressing room. Nick slammed the door shut with a thud. The crowd could still be heard, small thumps and wild giggles piercing the thick slab of wood, but that was okay. For now, we were safe.
“Fuck that was good!” Trent grunted.
“Yeah,” Nick growled like a badass. “I can feel the money, but not much else.”
He was right. Touring was getting to be a pain in the ass with the endless travel and the screaming crowds. We loved the music, though. The three of us knew how to make catchy beats. We were damn good at it. What else would we do? Get desk jobs?
I decided to focus on lighter subjects.
“Did you see that last chick, Trent?” was my amused rumble. “She was ready to give you a fucking blowjob right there onstage.”
As if that’s anything new.
In the beginning, we saw and did much worse. Orgies. Sex shows. You name it. The three of us indulged and overindulged. We were a trio on fire. Hell, Trent, Nick, and myself were practically triplets! We all had black hair and blue eyes, making us look enough alike that we were often mistaken for brothers.
The shit is getting old, though.
Too much of anything goes sour, eventually. It’s like gorging on prime rib night after night. After a while, a salad starts sounding good—real nutritious and fresh. Unfortunately, we wanted that salad already. Just a few years of touring was starting to do us in.
Maybe a desk job wouldn’t be so bad.
I never thought I’d crave salad in my life, but sometimes that’s how things work out.
We wanted someone real.
Genuine.
Innocent and sweet, who didn’t smell like cheap perfume and used lube.
Too bad she doesn’t exist.
“You didn't feel like giving up your dick tonight, huh?” Nick grunted at Trent. “Keeping it on a leash, are you?”
Trent shot him a nasty look. “You know I'm done with that shit,” was his terse reply. “Shut the fuck up.”
And with that, our lead singer flopped down on one of the couches in our luxurious dressing room and shoved his thick black hair out of his sweaty face. He tilted his head to the side, giving the typical tortured artist look—if a tortured artist had tattoos up both arms and the rock-hard body of a soldier ready for battle. Even the sweat made him look savage-like.
The guy needed to wipe down. Hell, we all did.
I scowled.
Where the fuck is our assistant?
Suddenly, a naked girl jumped out from behind one of the screens in the dressing room, platinum hair flying. Instead of swinging naturally to and fro, her bare boobs were stiff like hard balls of plastic, unnaturally rounded and pink.
If I held a flashlight up to them, they’d glow.
“Hiiii!” she squealed, wiggling and jiggling her hips. “Hi, I’m Candy! I’m a huge fan—”
“We figured,” Nick growled.
If I hadn't been used to this kind of shit happening, I would've leapt right out of my skin, but this was just more of the same shit on a different day.
“I can't believe we did it!” the girl gasped, still jumping up and down, her fake jugs like giant balloons on top of that skinny chest. “Mandy, where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
What the fuck? Mandy? Wasn’t her name Candy?
Then, as if on cue, another girl popped out right behind her, also nude. They were both wearing high heels and nothing else. Pink lipstick and rouge was caked on, while her foundation was as thick as a geisha’s.
We were repulsed, yet they had no idea.
“You guys want a taste?” the second one panted like a she-dog in heat. “I’m so good it'll blow your mind.”
“Yeah!” squealed Candy. “Mandy’s pussy is good! I mean my pussy! My pussy is good! No offense, Mandy.”
“It’s okay!” Mandy chirped. “There’s enough for both of us.”
Even their words pissed me off. Before they could say anything else, I was on my feet, brows lowered.
“What the fuck? Get the fuck out.”
Nick jumped on the bandwagon too. “How did you get in here?” he growled, threateningly. “Did security let you back here?”
That took Mandy and Candy by surprise. They were probably used to open arms and a warm reception. Befuddled, the girls looked at each other uncertainly.
“We bribed them,” murmured one, blinking like a lost cow. Pink female flesh shimmered under the fluorescent lights. Back in the day, we might have went for it.
“What the?” rasped Trent. “Those fuckers are fired. As of now.”
“Yeah, which one of them let you back here?” I demanded.
“Huh? The cute one let us—I mean…oops!” Mandy slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that!”
She was as dumb as a bag of rocks.
“I don't give a shit what he looked like,” Trent snarled. “Taking money for access? No shit, sayonara to the whole crew.”
Those assholes were done for. Their actions were a serious breach of contract. Females penetrating right into our inner sanctum? Absolutely inappropriate.
It didn’t matter who did it. The others should have stopped him.
The girls were still staring at us, wide-eyed and hopeful.
“Out,” rasped Trent, his glare dangerous. “Now.”
The naked groupies gasped, seemingly confused by our orders. Wobbling like baby deer, they staggered towards the door. One of them looked at me, eyes bulging and pleading.
You’re not my type, baby girl. Not even close. I like real, luscious women, not tits on a stick.
We treated our fans worse than farmers treated livestock.
I’m such an asshole.
“You heard the man,” Nick hissed. “Get the hell out.”
And with that, they were gone. There was no more talk, no more negotiating, no more pleading. The girls wobbled out, as naked as the day they were born.
They asked for it. Not my fault that they don’t know how to act.
Finally, the big door slammed shut again, leaving us in peace.
Thank God.
Unbelievably, a soft rap sounded mere seconds later.
“Go away!” Trent shouted. “We’re not interested!”
What now? Why can’t these girls leave us alone? Had they not seen the two naked chicks who’d been booted just a second ago?
“Sir?” came a soft voice from behind the heavy wood. “Excuse me, sir?”
In a murderous rage, I pushed past Trent and opened the door, ready to bellow at the unfortunate soul standing there.
But the angry words were caught in my chest, because instead of yet another skanky twig, there was a girl there. She was innocent and sweet, with large doe eyes and cute pink lips.
“H-h-hi,” she stammered. “H-hi, I-I’m Katy, your new assistant. I-I have some bottled water for you?”
This chick was everything we ever wanted—soft and gorgeous, with assets to spare. It was more than that, though. She was the complete opposite of our usual groupie following. Instead of being dressed in some glittery number, the brunette’s pretty shape was covered in a white polo shirt and khaki pants. I hadn’t seen a woman wear actual pants in so long. Covered legs were actually a little startling.
She certainly wasn’t a groupie. There was an official-looking lanyard around her neck with the word “Katy” printed in block letters.
Holy shit.
The brunette was the real deal. Our new assistant.
“Hey,” I grunted, almost lost for words. “Nice to meet you. Come on in.”
Slowly, Katy made her way into the dressing room. Silence greeted her, a stark contrast to the hubbub outside. All of us were staring at the incredible female with her lush curves and timid smile. Even Trent put his phone away to give her his complete attention.
“Yo,” he drawled. “Yo, what up?”
Katy blushed. “Um, h-hi,” she began hesitantly, putting down a wicker basket filled with water bottles. “I’m your new assistant. I’m h-here to run errands and do whatever you guys need.”
My brows flew up. Trent and Nick’s did too.
“What does that include?” was my immediate retort.
She blushed fierily once more.
“I’m not sure?” was her hesitant reply. “Getting water, helping you with tasks, that kind of thing?”
The three of us exchanged knowing looks. I could tell what we all wanted. This girl was right up our alley, and we were going to indulge. It’d been too long.
Far, far too long.
Katy had a soft, pillowy mouth and big brown eyes, just like we liked. Her curly mahogany hair fell around a face that looked so sweet and innocent. I needed to find out more.
Will she scream? Will she beg? Will she take it like a pro?
The brunette was exactly my type—and Trent and Nick’s. Fortunately or unfortunately, the girl had piqued our interests.
We went in for the kill, stalking our prey like lions in wait.
“Anything we need?” I asked, already eager to get down with her. “Anything?”
Katy nodded quickly. “Anything.” Then her large espresso eyes grew even wider. “Oh wait, but not illegal drugs,” she said quickly. “I can’t get you that. The handbook says that’s a no-no.”
I threw my head back and laughed uproariously. Nick and Trent did the same.
She was so damn innocent. Alpha Prime cultivates an image as hard-partying rock stars, but actually, the three of us have always been clean. Hard drugs weren’t part of our gig. Maybe a little pot now and then, but that was all.
Pot is legal in a lot of places now, so I don’t think that even counts. We only smoked it where we could buy it from a store. None of us trusted random street dealers and we traveled too much to have solid connections.
“Illegal drugs?” I shook my head. “Naw, that's not how we like to party, sweet thing.”
“Nope,” Trent rumbled, watching her like a starving jungle cat. “We like our fun dirty and much, much more personal.” He leaned forward in his chair to give her the full up and down, letting his gaze roam those voluptuous curves.
Katy blushed before turning away, brown curls covering one cheek.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Just call if you need anything, I’m ready to serve.”
Those words made my dick jerk.
Does this girl even know what she’s saying?
No, she didn’t—not from the looks of it.
But there was time. We could toy with her a little. She was a sweet new doll that needed to be played with. It would have to be slow. Shy girls took time and dedication.
“Sure thing,” Nick drawled lazily, leaning back in his chair like a tiger at ease. “We look forward to working with you.”
Katy seemed completely oblivious. She nodded bashfully before dashing from the dressing room, leaving the water bottles and the basket behind.
Once the door was shut, we stared at one another, azure gazes hungry.
“Shit,” grunted Nick. “Did that really just happen? Right here, with these hos all around?”
Trent nodded, slowly. “Think so, man. And she’s our new assistant.”
“No shit,” I added. “She’s all ours. On payroll and everything.”
That made us laugh, but not because it was a joke. We have a secret that not many know about. It’s not hard drugs. It’s not alcoholism or gambling. It’s not a crime even.
Instead, our secret is women. We love thick, gorgeous ladies just like Katy.
Even more, we like to fuck them together, three-on-one style. Why not? Guys that fuck together stick together. Alpha Prime has been touring for years now, and foursomes work for us.
Sharing.
Syncopating.
Teaming up on chicks.
It works well once you get into a roll. Trust me.
At first, the ladies can be a little nervous. When they realize what’s going to happen, there are some gasping squeals and half-hearted shrieks of fear. Three massive fuck rods and one pussy? It’s thirty inches in the sweetest spot. They’re sore afterwards, but I don’t think a single one of them ever regretted it.
Once they warm up, they can’t get enough of it. The screams of fear become screams of ecstasy.
Ten inches. Twenty inches. Thirty. And presto! We’ve got a slut on our hands.
My dick stiffened as I basked in the memories.
There’s nothing like sharing a beautiful girl, one with all of her holes plugged simultaneously.
Mmm, Katy. Kitty-Kat. Come here, kitten. Daddy has a story for you.
For the first time all night, energy coursed through my veins. Not the fake energy from the bright lights and the screaming fans. Not the thumping pulse of our music, or even the eerie wail of the guitar. Rather, it was the vibe of something new.
She was beautiful, fresh and ripe.
Katy had piqued our interest in a matter of minutes. Someone who was clean and natural, not at all like the tramps we dealt with every day.
Katy.
Kitty-Kat.
Like I said, Daddy’s got a tale to tell. Make that three daddies. You’ll fly far with us, Katy. I promise you that.