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TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE

Life & Death finished our set. We opened for the British blues-rock band, the Sixpence, at the Village Theatre. Backstage the groupies ignored us and waited for the big names.

“Star fuckers!” our lead guitarist, Warren, spat.

We never sounded better. I’m the drummer and I keep things together along with bassist, Sandy. The rhythm guitarist, Tommy, is just along for the ride, replacing our keyboardist, Clint, who went and got drafted.

“I’m afraid there’s a Viet Cong bullet with my name on it,” he lamented.

“Don’t forget to duck,” Sandy said lamely.

The lead singer and sometimes harmonica player was Margo Rush, a cross between Gracie Slick and Janis Joplin with a dash of Leslie Gore in the mix.

We did our one-hit-wonder, “Jealous Rage,” which I wrote, but had to let Margo sing. Our opening tune is a cover of “Good Morning, Mary,” a minor hit for a band called Wind, whose lead guitarist was a friend of Warren’s. Our best tune was “The Electrophonic Soul Sundae,” which lost something without Clint’s keyboard. Margo learned the notes on harmonica and Tommy played a counter melody to Warren’s lead guitar solo, but it just fell flat compared to the studio version with Clint’s driving organ.

The night before we did a soundcheck with the Sixpence—Nigel, Liam, Cecil, and Trevor, who were cordial to us, but disparaged the expected crowd as teeny boppers. We tried to tell them that the Greenwich Village crowd was hip and in tune with the music, but they just snickered.

Afterward they shared some righteous weed with us and invited us to eat, drink, and party with them at their hotel. We no sooner arrived than they plied Margo with apple wine and pills before carrying off to a bedroom and gang-banged her. She howled for an hour and told us later they fucked our sweet lady in the mouth, ass, and cunt without condoms. Then they took turns pissing on her before turning her loose.

“What pigs!” Warren declared.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect to get peed on, but I came a lotta times,” our cute singer confessed, as she emerged from the Sixpence’s sex chamber, her tits sticking out from her unbuttoned shirt and her jeans showing half her butt crack.

Margo was ripe. “You’re kinda funky, kid,” I told her.

“I’ll take a shower when I get home,” she shrugged. I picked at her frizzy blonde curls and suggested she hop into the hotel room’s bathroom and go home cleaned up. Margo shook her head and walked over to table where the Sixpence’s roadies were passing around a hash pipe.

Sandy and I left at that point.

The next night after the gig, as a gaggle of groupies swarmed around the Sixpence, we took possession of the hospitality suite. As I said, Life & Death never sounded better, especially Margo, but she was bummed out because her British blues rockers had found other fertile fields to play.

“I fucked all four of them guys,” bahis firmaları she choked back a sob. “I thought they really liked me.”

Only Tommy had the balls to say to her, “It was your pussy they liked, Margo.”

To which she spat, “Fuck you,” and poked her middle finger at him.

Margo, Warren, Sandy, Tommy, and I explored new vistas, having been weaned on grass and beer, to drink wine and vodka paid for by someone else was a novel affair.

We sang along to vinyl spinning—Cream, Yardbirds, Kinks, and Who—as Margo danced, half stoned out and half erotica in motion. I tapped out beats on the armrest of a leather sofa and Sandy played air bass guitar with his fingers.

“I think I like vodka,” he slurred.

A groupie named Caprice came prancing into the suite. Apparently, the Sixpence were done with her and she was looking for more fun. Usually, the hard-core star fuckers go for the lead guitarist or lead singer. So, even though our lead singer was a girl, Caprice moved right in on Margo’s space, nestling her butt beside our alpha chick’s on the same chair.

“Which guy is your old man?” Caprice asked Margo.

“All of ’em,” Margo smiled broadly. “I’m everybody’s.”

“Who’d you ball first?”

Margo wiggled as Caprice wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pointed at me, “I jerked off Nicky and he fingered me first, but I blew Clint, who used to play keyboards, before I let anybody fuck me.”

Entwining her long fingers in Margo’s blonde, wiry, frizzy hair, Margo asked in a wistful, alluring voice, “Yeah, so, who gotcha first?”

“Again, my little drummer boy, Nicky.” When Margo pointed at me, Caprice pushed off the chair and landed like a cat on two legs and then walked toward me. She wore a v-neck shirt, striped miniskirt with a wide black belt, red leotards, and low-cut suede boots.

In time with the music caprice danced as she stripped, flipping her waist-length blonde hair from side to side as she bared and jiggled her puffy-nippled pointy tits, black furred pussy, and dimpled ass. She looked at me with a suggestive, open-mouthed expression and her hand movements simulated fingers dancing all over both of us.

I watched her, felt the warmth of her body, and smelled her erotic odor. My erection swelled and I began to rub myself, but before she could hone in on my dick, Tommy came from behind and grabbed her, humping her form behind. Instead of protesting she laughed with glee he began to put it to her doggy style.

Margo also jumped from the chair, pulled down her jeans, and crawled on the floor like a serpent, positioning herself in front of Caprice, who was panting and grunting in response to Tommy’s grinding from behind. Margo spread her legs and opened her pussy with her fingers and waited for the talented groupie to kiss her pink membrane, looking like a slice of smoked ham.

I watched the throuple—Margo, Caprice, and Tommy—shiver kaçak iddaa and moan in orgasm. They had no sooner finished than they switched—Margo going down on Caprice and Tommy putting his rubbery but still elongated dick inside Margo’s slippery slit.

There I was high as the moon and horny with nowhere to go. I looked at my best friend, Sandy, and saw that he, too, was aroused but stymied. Without any filters of inhibition, I reached for Sandy’s pants waist and yanked down his jeans with a single determined tug, his fingerlike dick springing up from his sparsely hairy crotch.

Sandy didn’t speak a word, just calmly gazing down at me, as I leaned forward and took hold of his penis. I heard Warren murmur something to the effect of “What’s this?” I rolled my eyes upward to make sure Sandy was watching me, giving him a smile and a little wink before kissing the tip of his crown. He moaned and shivered in response, and then I began to lick him with long, slow, wet strokes of my tongue. I felt his hand gently patting the top of my head as I savored the taste of his flesh.

I heard Warren say, “I think they’ve done this before.” Tommy had finished fucking Margo and she had finished eating out Caprice, and so I knew everyone was watching me and Sandy. I pulled his cock inside my mouth, massaging it with my tongue, and felt at once a surge of adrenalin and passion. My bass-playing bandmate threw his head back and groaned as I proceeded to suck him off with a fast-paced, head-bobbing rhythm.

“That is so fuckin’ cool,” I heard Margo say, getting a purring agreement form Caprice.

I pulled down my pants and started to play with my own manly spear when I felt someone, either Caprice or Margo, diddle my ass hole with a feminine fingertip. I didn’t open my eyes or stop, however. I enjoyed sucking Sandy’s cock so much that I was disappointed when I sensed his ejaculation was imminent.

Sandy exclaimed, “Oh, shit!” as I tightened my lips around the hear of his cock and squeezed his balls before the first burst of ejaculate hit the roof of my mouth. I hummed audibly as his milky white semen rolled over my tongue and gulped loudly as it went down my throat. I kept sucking him until the last beat and loudly smacked his wang with a kiss. I further added to my debauchery by licking his sweaty balls, pubies, inner thighs, and perineum between his anus and scrotum.

While Caprice and Margo were still tossing my salad, Caprice licking my ass crack and Margo giving me a hickey on my left butt cheek, Warren unbuckled his jeans, pulled out his cock and balls, and wiggled them in front of my face.

“Don’t you love me, too?” he whined, glancing the tip of his phallus against my cheek. “C’mon, will ya?”

I laughed and cupped his big one between my hands. His dick looked like a raw turkey neck and his balls sagged halfway to his knees.

I treated him to a luxuriously slow, wet licking, kaçak bahis punctuated by little nibbles all around. I kept looking up at the lead guitarist with wide, expectant eyes, just like girls such as Margo and Caprice do to enhance the allure of their performance.

“If your balls are next to my chin,” I asked him, “where will your penis be?”

“In your mouth,” he said, his voice thick with distracted passion.

I had never kissed Warren, not even in playful teasing, but the next thing I did was bring his long dong to my lips and kiss it loudly with a theatrical smacking.

Warren started to talk to me as I performed fellatio on him. “The only guy I ever got queer with was Jonny Crimian,” he confessed. Jonny was the singer-guitarist of a band called Wind, who had just recently had a minor hit record. “We were really stoned and it was really a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ kind of thing.

Meanwhile I was lavishing his rod with a vigorous, hard-sucking, fist-pumping double stimulatipn. When I added a ball massage, he threw his head back and howled, “This feels so good! Fuck!”

I held his throbbing dick in front of my face and opened my mouth just before he came. I spread my lips to receive his wad and made yummy sounds as I swallowed his stick issue. Then I licked and slurped his cock, balls, and ass, finish him off by spreading his rectum with my fingers and kissing his ass right smack dab in the anus.

“Oh, my god, that was unfuckin’ believable.”

I rolled onto my side and expected to find Caprice or Margo to wrap up this unparalleled orgiastic extravaganza. Instead, it was Tommy, who was picking at his weiner like a six-string guitar.

“Hey, what about me?”

I laughed and knelt in front of him, letting him whip out his brown cock and present it to my warm hands. I rubbed his cock with both hands and felt it grow longer and thicker before I treated him to a tongue flicking, licking, and butterfly kisses.

I sucked Tommy’s curved, thickly veined penis for barely half a minute before he started to come in my mouth. Maybe because he was so quickly spent, I gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek after licking his hard, little balls clean.

The last thing I remember is Caprice and Margo taking turns sucking my dick and sitting on my face. Margo tasted sweaty, salty, and full of the Sixpence’s come, while Caprice tasted nutty, pissy, and full of my bandmate’s come.

Unconscious or blacked out from the alcohol and hallucinogenic drugs, Margo told me later that Sandy sucked my dick, while Warren fucked me in the ass followed by Tommy, who called me a “good girl” as he shot his jizz into my anus. I remember none of that.

Afterward, even as we drove home to the burbs next day, the only thing we said about what happened was that we wouldn’t talk about it. I had been my best friends’ cock slut for just one night and never again.

In the many years since then, I sometimes wonder whether Margo, Sandy, Warren, and Tommy recall the sight, sound, and feel of me performing oral sex on them with such a whorish lack of restraint. I certainly do.

…/…

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