“Liane. You came, didn’t you?”

My trembling should have made it obvious. But he had to twist my bliss into something humiliating. Stoking the fire inside me even more. Melting away anything that was left of Liane. Or Lia. Leaving only my lust. My need. My insatiable sexual appetite.

I answered his question by frantically sucking his cock, deeper and faster, whimpering with my desperate need to feel him erupt.

His fingers interlaced in the hair on the back of my head and he sighed.

“Watching you dance; actually, watching all those people watching you dance, and how turned on I know they’re getting, makes me want to get my hands on your body more than just about anything.”

His words spurred me on, driving me inexorably toward climax number two, and every time the head of his cock touched the back of my throat, my body played a trick on me and it felt like he was hitting a place deep in my core, accessible only between my thighs.

“Seeing you sweating, whipping your hair around, strutting across that stage like you own it, holding the entire crowd in the palm of your hand, there’s so much sexual power there. If you were a guy, girls would be throwing their panties on stage like they used to do for Mick Jagger.

“That’s when you’re sexiest, you know? When you’re most in your element, so confident. When you’re in that zone, you get this look on your face, it’s almost a sneer, like you know you’re the ‘Head Bitch in Charge’ and that you were born to do what you’re doing.”

I was sucking him wildly, performing for him, trying to give him a visual to match the feeling I hoped my mouth was giving him.

“And Liane, your ass in those black leather pants. If I didn’t know it was real, I’d assume you’d gone the Kardashian route. It looks too damn good to be natural. I’m probably going to have to fuck it soon, you know that, don’t you?”

I moaned around his cock. The thought of him taking me back there had kept me up at night, touching myself. It was so dirty. So wicked. So arousing.

“Get up here, girl. Let me see it.”

He reached down and hooked his hands under my arms and lifted me to my feet. He turned me around and lifted my skirt, displaying my bare ass to him as I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth and chin.

He set his thumbs right at the bottom of my butt, where the top of my thighs met my ass, and spread hands out on my cheeks, taking great handfuls of me.

He lifted and spread me open. “Such a pretty, tight little asshole you have, Liane. And it’s just for me, isn’t it?”

I gasped my reply. I needed to be fucked so badly. “Yes!”

Through hooded eyelids, I noticed the floor where I’d been kneeling. It was soaked. The staff at the hotel would think we’d spilled something. Jolts of shame went straight to my aching clit.

I felt his hands on my hips as he pulled me down and back. He opened his legs and he impaled me from behind. I was so wet he that he slipped right inside, piercing me as he pulled me fast to his lap.

“Oh!” I exclaimed as my body stretched to accommodate him.

“What a view. You should talk to wardrobe about putting you in some backless stuff during your shows. Your back is so damn sexy.”

He spoke to me as if we were discussing turndown service and dinner plans, not as if I was nearing orgasm from finally being permitted to bounce on his thick cock. He could fuck me all day and night, he had such stamina.

His hands ran up and down my back and sides as I lewdly rode him, grinding down hard as he filled me.

I leaned forward to facilitate deeper penetration, but he took my hair in his hand and pulled me back. His right arm crossed my throat, capturing it in the crook of his elbow as his left hand snaked forward, around my waist, and down between my legs.

I yelped with surprise, immobilized by his strength and what felt like a tree trunk inside me.

Nothing moved except his hand, strumming my clit. He throbbed deep inside me as my hands clutched at his thighs, my fingernails digging into him as I gritted my teeth, my entire body tensing in anticipation of my imminent climax.

He whispered in my ear, the pace of his hand quickening on me as he flexed the arm holding me in place.

“Come for me, Liane. Your orgasm will make the muscles inside you clutch at my cock and make me come. You do want me to come, don’t you?”

“Yesssss!” I hissed, my hips writhing under his assault.

“Don’t hold back. Let me hear it. Let the entire hotel hear you. Let all your fans hear your climax. They know your voice. It will be unmistakable. I only wish I’d left the window open.”

The thought of people, my fans, the ticket-buying, music-downloading public, experiencing my orgasm with me did as much to fuel my orgasm as his practiced hand rolling my clit or his muscular cock pulsing inside me in time with his heart beat.

I thrashed and screamed, abandoning any lingering civility. As it began in earnest, he pulled back, choking me more firmly. A conflagration of fireworks exploded in my soul.

Throughout my release, he kept massaging my pubic bone with the heel of his hand and my clit with his fingertips. It was maddening. The lack of oxygen to my brain and the relentless pulsing and stretching his cock inflicted on me were exhausting; deliciously excruciating.

He took aggressive hold of my hips and lifted me from his lap, only to yank me back down. He meant to finish, using my body as a sex toy to get him off.

He tensed and growled, blasting into me like a geyser. Feeling and hearing his orgasm, which sounded exquisite, set off a chain reaction of aftershocks in me.

He loosened his grip on me, and I melted into his embrace. He kissed my shoulders and neck, holding me close as I recovered.

Touring, and the chaotic lifestyle that accompanies fame, make drink and drugs the coping mechanisms of choice. While I wouldn’t say no to the occasional shot or beer, at twenty I’d found my stress reliever of choice. The kind of orgasms only he could deliver.

My body was his. Whether he knew it or not, my heart was, too.