blog-for-horny - Tumblr blog

blog-for-horny · 3 months

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The 141 music thing just makes me think of soap having a hook up at a punk concert with a pretty little drummer. (Also ur ocs fronting an all female punk band)

ONLY BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT THEYD ALL PLAY. (Moon is a bass player I know this in my heart, underappreciated by fans and easily bullied)

(Birdie is lead vocals and lead guitar, Goose is on drums, Bee is second guitar, Duck manages)

Cw for MAJOR dubcon and oral(f!receiving)

You usually keep your head down during sets. Your eyes on your fingers, nodding to the beat the drummer lays down, keeping time with your body. You look up only to check in with the rest of your band, occasionally you catch one of them doing something stupid and smile to yourself. Your drummer throws her broken sticks into the crowd and you wander over to your standing mic to contribute your less than stellar voice to the chorus. Although you suppose punk doesn't necessarily need the best vocals in the world, and you still consider yourself a small time band(despite the people packed like sardines into the pit) so you're not really trying to impress anyone.

You glance at the crowd. There's some guy leaned against the stage, with blue eyes and a mowhark, and a smattering of piercings you'd bet money are hand poked. He catches your eye and grins, blinding you more than the lights ever could. You look down at your bass quickly.

"Come oan hen, gimme a glare," he yells, almost as loud as the music. You take a beat to flip him off. It only seems to egg him on. "Lemme lick your cunt," he yells again, leaning as far over the edge of the stage as he can. You fumble the next chord and raise your foot to stomp on the fingers that creep onto the wood.

His hand moves too quick, sliding out of the way before grabbing your ankle. You drop another chord, your fingers fumbling over the strings. The firm grip he has on you squeezes tight, before pulling away. His smile has too many teeth, feels more predatory than friendly. Your cheeks burn. Your drummer, Goose, throws her stick at him and yells. The thunk of wood against this guy's forehead brings you back to the present. One of your roadies, the big one Goose hooks up with, grabs the guy by the shoulders and drags him out of the pit. What a fucking asshole.

You go out back for a smoke after the show. The adrenaline of performance makes your skin buzz, you still feel twitchy in your fingers and your ears still ring from the amps. It's a great feeling, one you wish you could hold onto. The cigarette doesn't help, but it does feel good. The side door opens, metal creaking as people file out of the establishment. You tip your head back and watch the smoke swirl towards the starry sky.

"There you are." A deep voice calls from the doorway. You turn your head, cigarette poised at your lips. It's the guy from the pit, his teeth on full display.

"Fuck off," you turn back to your smoking, ignore the way he steps towards you. You try not to let your shoulders raise defensively. Guys like this are always all bark and no bite, show a little aggression and they run back home to mommy.

"That any way to talk to a man on his knees?" You can imagine it's a smile in his voice, but it would be just that, imagined. There is a warning in his tone, a baring of teeth that drips down your spine and settles warm in your stomach. You turn to look at him again, tip your head ever so slightly when you find him standing far too close, far too suddenly.

"You're not-"

He drops. His knees hit the pavement with a solid thunk, and almost as quickly his hands are ripping at the plaid skirt secured tight around your hips. Some old catholic school thing you'd grabbed at the thrift store, it felt good burning cigarette holes in it and imagining it as a 'fuck you' to the nuns that made your life hell. Now the holes only seem to give purchase to this man's fingers helping him tear at the fabricbefore pushing it up. Your hands fly to his face, pushing at him with a shriek and a heavy swear.

"What the fuck are you doing!" You yelp, scrambling away and bumping into the rough brick of the venue behind you. You glance to the mouth of the alley and find the view blocked by a dumpster. Your breath comes short and quick, your skin burning with anger.

"Exactly what I promised," the man hums, his fingers hook the lace of your panties and rip the seam in one firm yank, "licking your cunt."

Your words die on your tongue, his thumbs peal your folds apart, and suddenly it's humiliation burning on your cheeks. His thumbs smooth over your skin, letting him get a good look at you. He leans forward and you raise onto your toes, push at his head, try to squirm away from the heavy inspection of your hole. His hands grab your hips, iron as he forces you back into place. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes focused wholly on your cunt. His cheeks are red, the blue of his iris eaten away by his pupils.

"Fuck me, look at you," He breathes, "bonnie, bonnie," he leans close and you try to no avail to lift away again, his lips press tenderly to your bare cunt and you freeze, "bonnie pussy. Steamin' hell I'd die a happy man buried in you."

You push at his head and it only serves to tip him back, to open his mouth so his tongue can slide between your folds. He follows the push of your hands, letting you guide him back until he's flicking the tips of his tongue against your clit, his eyes trained on you.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask, your fingers trying to push further as he holds himself in place. The question seems to confuse him, his brows furrowing before you feel him push against your hold.

"I've got nothin' better to be doing," he hums. He forces your elbows to bend, his lips attach to your clit and instead of suction you're treated to the rolling heat of his tongue. The flutter of the muscle against the tight bundle of nerves makes your hips buck, your fingers gripping at his hair before he sucks hard and you feel a breathy whine tug at your lips. His tongue licks over you, over you, over you, before circling your clit, uninterested in anything but the main event. Your stomach jumps, heat sluicing through you at each roll of his tongue. Your skin buzzes with more than just adrenaline. Pleasure pumps up your spine ans you arch your back off the wall, pushing your hips against his face. You can feel the part of his lips before his teeth scrape over your cunt. It shivers through you, a danger, a warning, he'll bite you if you aren't careful. Somehow part of you wishes he would.

His tongue slides over your hole and you wonder for a moment if he's planning to push it inside. He slips it around and around the opening before his lips press to your cunt and he gives a loud obscene slurp. The noise fills the alleyway, his lips and tongue working to keep the messy eating loud. He shakes his head, draging your slick over you, forcing it down your thighs. His stubble burns, another faint pain part of you wishes were harsher. He pulls your hips down hard against his mouth, wiggles the flat of his tongue over your clit. His shoulders bully their way between your legs, forcing them further apart to accommodate. You've managed to keep yourself quiet this long, but your teeth are starting to dig into your lip painfully. He pulls back, one hand pressing hard against your stomach while the other slips between your legs.

"So soft f'me, aren't ya," his fingers squeeze your stomach, rub at your clit with rough calloused hands, "where'd all that fight go, eh?"

"You're-" you stifle a whine, his fingers rubbing so fast and hard against your clit it's mind numbing, "I- fuck," you tips your head back, bounce your hips against the feeling, your body more eager than your mind to see what this perv has cooked up.

"Tha's it love, give you something nice and big to bounce on in a minute, don't gotta worry." His voice is thick, greedy, your stomach drops.

He's not going to fuck you is he? A chill runs over you. That's- he can't do that, you don't know him, and you're in public, and you haven't even- God you didn't even say anything he just boxed you in and licked the fight out of you. You push at his face again and he coos, burying his mouth against your clit. His lips seal over your skin to suck and pull, letting your clit pop free only to start the process over again.

"Wait-" you breathe, feeling the blunt press of his fingers against your hole, "wait, wait, please."

"Listen to you getting polite," he hums over your cunt, his tongue darts out to slide through your folds again, his fingers pressing into you, "wait isnae a no hen, haveta say no for me ta stop."

"Don't," you moan, feeling his fingers curl. Two of them burns at your hole, stretching your rim without the leverage to spread your legs. You whine behind tightly closed lips, his tongue rolling sweeting against your clit as he scissors his fingers.

"Don't what hen? Stop?" He kisses your clit so sweetly you almost could forget he's a stranger in an alley. "Ahm nae, just openin' ya up."

Your breath heaves in your chest, shame, panic, and desire, mixing into some strange beast that claws at your ribs. You should say no, you should tell him to stop, Christ why can't you? Every time you open your mouth he jabs his fingers against that soft spongy spot near your entrance, that's why.

"Such a fuckin' slag," he grins, all teeth, "gettin' fingered in public is getting you off isn' it?"

"Ng," is all you can manage, your teeth grit and your body desperately caught in the silence you're devoting all your brain power to. Your hips rock without you meaning them to, your body warmed by his words, by the drag of his tongue and the curl of his fingers. Your stomach is so tight, your legs are locked rigidly, and your cunt clenches greedily around his fingers. If you were in control of yourself you might try harder to push him away but you can't, you don't even know if you want to. He said all you had to do was say "no", it's so simple.

"Come on hen, one syllable, or is that too much for your poor little head?" Its so cruel the way he teases you. "Whiney little whore," he bites the inside of your thigh, his voice growling in displeasure, "thought you'd scream." His teeth sink into the soft flesh, aching where you know they'll leave a bruise as his fingers speed up. You're speared on his thick fingers, each thrust winding the tightness in your stomach tighter. His lips fasten themselves to your clit again, the hand on your stomach traveling to squeeze one tit, then the other. The opportunity for escape barely registers, your hips canting and your exhales whining. He works you up and up and up, pleasure dripping down his hand, your clit tingling under his tongue, your muscles tighten and your spine arches. You bite your lip until you taste blood as stars white out your vision and your body goes rigid. Your legs shake, orgasm sweeping over you as his fingers and tongue stroke you.

You barely notice him spinning you around to face the wall, don't hear the metal of his zipper. You do feel the big roadie knock your mystery man's head against the wall next to you. Hear him growl out a:

"Supposed to be 'elping with the amps ya fucking slag."

"Thought I'd sample the merchandise," your man groans, his voice has that pinched sound that comes from someone holding their nose. You wonder if it's bleeding.

"Do tha' on your own time, not payin' you ta stand around, Johnny." Ghost, fuck you think his name is Ghost, tells him.

"Alrigh', alrigh', steamin' bloody jesus," Johnny gripes, his hands smooth your skirt down. You blink, your cheek still pressed to the brink. "Johnny" leans to kiss your cheek, smearing blood all over your face, you can feel the curve of his smile when he tells you, "Finish up later, yeah?"

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