The crowd was a sweaty mess of leather and denim when I spotted him backstage. Jake, the lead guitarist for Smut Metal, had that look in his eye like he wanted to tear something apart. I pushed through the security rope and told the bouncer I was with the band. He let me pass because I flashed enough tit under my ripped tank top.
Jake grabbed my wrist the second he saw me. "You again," he said, voice rough from screaming into the mic all night. "The one who keeps showing up like a bitch in heat."
I didn't waste time. "You gonna fuck me or just talk about it?"
He dragged me into the dressing room, kicked the door shut, and shoved me against the wall. His hands went straight under my skirt, fingers shoving my panties aside and jamming two inside my cunt without warning. I was already wet from the show, from watching him grind against his guitar like he was fucking it. He curled those fingers hard, pumping them while his thumb mashed my clit.
"Slut for metal, aren't you?" he growled, biting my neck. "Bet your pussy's been dripping since the first riff."
I reached down and grabbed his cock through his jeans. It was thick and hard already, straining against the denim. I unzipped him fast, pulled it out, and stroked the heavy length. Veins stood out along the shaft, and the head was slick with pre-cum. I dropped to my knees and sucked him straight down, no teasing. My mouth stretched around him as I took him to the back of my throat, gagging once before I relaxed and let him fuck my face.
Jake held my head with both hands and thrust deep. Spit ran down my chin onto my tits. He tasted like sweat and salt and that raw edge from playing for two hours straight. "Yeah, choke on it," he said. "Smut Metal girls know how to suck cock."
He pulled me up, spun me around, and bent me over the couch. My skirt flipped up, panties yanked down to my knees. He lined up and slammed his cock into my pussy in one hard thrust. I cried out, the stretch burning good. He didn't go slow. He fucked me like the drums were still pounding, hips snapping fast and brutal, balls slapping my ass with every stroke.
The room smelled like beer, weed, and sex. His leather jacket creaked as he leaned over me, one hand reaching around to pinch my nipples through my top. "Tight little cunt," he grunted. "Taking every inch like you were made for it."
I pushed back against him, meeting every thrust. My clit rubbed against the couch edge with each slam, building that tight heat low in my belly. He pulled out suddenly, flipped me onto my back, and spread my legs wide. Then he was back inside, pounding deeper in this position, his pubic bone grinding against my clit.
"Fuck me harder," I told him, voice hoarse. "Make it hurt."
He grinned, all teeth, and obliged. His hands pinned my wrists above my head while he drove into me. Sweat dripped from his chest onto mine. The bass from the stage still thumped through the walls, matching the rhythm he set. I came first, pussy clenching around his cock in hard pulses, juices soaking his balls. He kept fucking me through it, not slowing down.
When he was close he pulled out, straddled my chest, and jerked his cock over my face. Thick ropes of cum splattered across my lips, tongue, and tits. I licked what I could reach, swallowing the salty load while he watched.
He didn't kick me out right away. We lay there catching our breath, his hand still between my legs, fingers idly stroking my swollen pussy. "Next show's in two days," he said. "Bring that mouth again."
I smiled, already planning what to wear. The metal was still pounding outside, and my body was humming with it.
