POST ORGASMICOur Players:
Tara - Debi Whitfield
Dom - DonnieK Capalini
Tara stumbled out of the back entrance and into the alley behind the Gravity Club. The night was cool and wet, rain throughout the evening hadn’t done much to wash away the grime of the alley nor the stench of rotting garbage coming from the dumpsters. Still, it was a mite better than the overcrowded club, which stank of the sweat of a couple hundred drunken and rowdy patrons and stale beer. She collapsed back against the wet brick of the building and fished a pack of smokes from her pocket. It had been a good set, though, she thought to herself as she lit up a cigarette and let the smoke burn against the back of her throat.
“What the fuck, Tara,” Dom growled as he rounded on her. “What the fuck was that all about?”
Tara looked at him in confusion for a moment. She shook her head and took a drag off the cig trying to figure out what had happened to get him all riled up.
He looked at her with bemused, simmering anger, then shook his own head, “She was practically fucking you on stage,” he finally revealed.
The light dawned in her eyes and she nearly laughed out loud. The little coed that’d rushed up on stage had been very friendly, and very hands on. The girl had been fairly drunk and ground up against Tara’s backside, running her hands down to Tara’s crotch and dry humping her on stage while Tara had ripped out the licks during Spoonman. Tara wasn’t one to let inhibition get in her way when she was on stage and feeling the energy of the music and the audience. The wild roars of the club-goers entertained by a bit of sex just added to the intense power she felt on stage.
“Aw, c’mon, Dom, she was just some coed having a good time.”
“Yeah? What if she’d had some guy there that didn’t like having his girl makin’ it with the band?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “You can’t be serious,” she shot back at him, her own burr of irritation now starting to dig at her. He had barged in on her afterglow with this bullshit? “You cant honestly believe that!”
“I was watching you. I was watching the crowd. I saw those guys out there,” Dom broke off, looking suddenly very uncomfortable.
“This isn’t about them, is it,” she nearly laughed, but had the grace to reign it in. She glared at him through narrowed eyes, “This is about you. You’re jealous!”
He turned and got right in her face. He towered over her, tension making the muscles in his shoulders shiver as he thrust both arms to either side of her, slapping his hands on the gritty brick. His face a mixture of fighting anger and little boy pleading, “Yeah, so what if I am,” he growled.
Damned men and their egos and their attachments, she thought. She never should have gotten intimate with a band mate. On the surface he’d always nodded and gone along with Tara’s onstage sensual persona, but it was obvious that, for him, this had been building for a long time now. And that just turned the heat up on Tara’s own anger.
She pushed him, then punched her fists against his shoulders. She pushed hard against him and began to scream, wordless and animal screams of frustration. “Goddamned you, mother fucker! What right do you have to be jealous? I never ever promised you a goddamned thing!” she finally managed, forcing him back on his heels. She continued pushing against him, forcing him back until he was pressed against the wall opposite.
Tara wasn’t to be deterred at this point though. She leaned into him, working his cock with long, slow, hard strokes, fucking him unforgivingly with her hand. She grabbed the front of his jacket again, pushing her fist into his chest and thrust her chin at him, daring him at that point to do something. When all he could manage was a gurgle of mixed pleasure and muted anger she shoved one last time and lowered herself into a crouch. His gaze followed her down and he let out another muted groan.
Tara pushed deep onto Dom, his sex filling her mouth, then throat. She held him just long enough for her throat to contract around the pulsing member and pulled him out just as her gag reflex rebelled. Each dive was a slow pleasurable torture, even though his hand on her hair urged her to go faster, she fucked his cock deliberately, slow, hard, with long deep strokes. She felt the meat pulse and throb between her lips and pressed her tongue against the underside and swirled the tip of his head with each pass, growling each time she swallowed him down.
She finally released him and sat back on her heels before teetering over against the wall next to him and settled he ass on the damp concrete. She propped her arms up on her knees and wiped the drool from her chin with the back of her arm. The whole thing left her unsatisfied and simmering with anger and frustrated pleasure.
Dom managed to recover himself after a moment and fumbled his bobbing cock back into his jeans. He pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled back toward the club. At the door he half turned but did not look directly at Tara.
“I’m done Tara. I can’t use sex like some goddamned weapon. So, I’m done. With you and with the band,” He gave a resigned grimace and pulled the door open.
Tara, looked up at him, her anger quenched by the sudden announcement. Now stunned herself, she watched Dom disappear into the club. It wasn’t until the door had shut with a bang that her mind moved past the surprise and she sagged back against the brick, smacking her head into the grit.
“Fuck,” she muttered as she sat there, the damp chill seeping up through her butt, and wondered where she was going to get another bassist.