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Cass grinds his wet cunt against the bassist’s boot. It’s as uncomfortable as it is humiliating, but he doesn’t have the mental space to dwell on the experience. The tie around his neck tightens again, cutting off more of the circulation pumping blood into his brain. He looks up with bruised eyes at the six-foot musician clutching his tie. Despite the black fog pushing against the corner of his vision, Cass knows her. Mallorie. Her look is iconic, drilled into Cass’s mind from posters and fancams. Black hair cascading down her shoulders, leather jacket, ripped skinny jeans, two carabiner clips on her belt loop. And her boots, which Cass is reminded of again when she rests the other one on his shoulder.
“You’re doing so well, little boy.” Mallorie’s voice is soft. Softer than it used to be, but huskier too. Cass still remembers his first time at one of her shows. Neither of them looked the same as they do now. Cass was a 11 year old girl with glasses and a raccoon hair stripe. Mallorie had a beard. Back then, her voice sounded reedier and less confident. In the intervening half-decade, it’s been changed by cigarette smoke and voice training. Now it’s rough and gentle, cutting through Cass’s fog and pulling him out of his memory.
“How old did you say you were?”
“Ei…twenty one. I’m twenty one.” Cass stammers out. He’s lying, but he’s been lying all night. He lied to his parents about where he was going. He lied to get into the concert with a fake ID. He lied to his friend when he said he was going to the bathroom. He lied to the cute girl at the bar who hyped him up to come backstage. What’s one more lie so that a hot girl thinks he’s cooler than he is?
“Bad boy.” Mallorie kicks Cass in the face and lets go of his tie. He falls back into the shitty wooden table in the middle of the green room, onto the pile of his booty shorts and panties that Mallorie pulled off him. She stands over him and slams her boot against his stomach. Cass wheezes out an apology, his arms pathetically flailing to protect his face.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m so sorry I just thought it would be—”
Mallorie grabs Cass’s hair and pulls his head up to look at her. “You think I don’t remember your pretty little face? You think I haven’t seen you in the crowd all those years? You’re just a little kid.”
Mallorie’s voice is sharp now, cruel and cutting, different from the persona she wears on stage or the gentle girl who welcomed Cass when he stepped backstage. Her legs tighten around his waist. Cass realizes he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s taken a breath. His ribs fucking hurt. Mallorie yanks on his hair and his body shakes around like a drunken doll.
“I’m sorry I won’t lie to you again I’m sorry I promise.” Cass gasps out. Mallorie softens, something in her eyes dimming, and she lets go off Cass’s hair. She reaches down and pets him like he’s some kind of dog. Cass (blood pumping to his brain for the first time all evening) is aware of how small he is, a fragile boney thing, pinned down by this gorgeous and extremely unstable woman. Cass feels extremely aware that if this was anyone else who had plied him into her room, made out with him, stripped him, and then kicked him like that, he would probably fight back and run away. But this is Mallorie , the best bassist in the universe, his idol since he was in middle school. Still, some part of Cass’s subconscious mumbles, she’s clearly trying to rape you. You need to get out of here while you can.
“Good boy.” Cass’s heart leaps in his chest, despite himself. “Now. Do you want another shot?”
Cass shook his head. “I really should be going. I’ve gotta get dressed and, I have a friend I need to find, and my parents—”
“Shut up.” Mallorie kisses him, and Cass’s brain goes blank. He remembers now how he got into this mess — how beautiful she looks on stage, how warmly she greeted him in the green room, how gently she handled him. He remembers other times too: being 16 years old and trying to get the band to sign his shirt and crying. She comforted him then, too. She was luring you! Cass’s mind rebels against the situation. Other memories start to surface, memories he can’t keep track of, memories that don’t make sense. But Cass melts into her, his mind fuzzy and sensationless, and when she asks if he wants another shot again, he can’t stop himself from nodding.
Mallorie tilts back Cass’s head, grabs the vodka off the floor, and uncaps it with her teeth. She cradles Cass’s head against her bosom and pours vodka down his throat. Cass coughs. He can’t breathe. The pungent smell of booze fills his body, a violent cutting sensation running from the base of his throat up into his nostrils. Another lie, although left unspoken: Cass has never had alcohol before tonight. The cheap vodka feels like poison. Then Mallorie’s warm lips, pressed suddenly against his forehead, are the center of his universe dissolving into shards of glass down his throat.
Mallorie pulls the bottle away and shoves her tongue deep inside Cass’s mouth. His naked hips buckle and twitch beneath her. She purrs and takes a swig of vodka before putting the cap back on and tossing it onto the pile of Cass’s clothes.
Mallorie pulls Cass up to his feet and brings him back over to the couch. She unbuckles her belt, setting aside the carabiners, and pulls her cock out from between her legs. Cass has only ever sucked cock once. It was broad and large, and the process of sucking on it was mechanical, repetitive, and dull. Mallorie’s cock is different. Small, soft, and tender, with a pink hue and a layer of slime already dripping from the tip. Mallorie pulls him close to her and his lips automatically latch onto her cock. Cass’s body shivers between her legs. Her cock twitches inside his mouth like the tentacle of some deep-sea beast.
Cass isn’t good at giving head. He gets the sense it doesn’t really matter. His tongue laps at the underside of her cock while she moans. He can’t breathe. He doesn't know how long he services her. The vodka seeps into his system, turning his brain into a cloud of cock, black denim, and flesh. His hands twitch uselessly at her sides, her nails dig into his head, his chest rubs against the strange texture of the couch. His own cunt, denied and bruised by her earlier mistreatment, leaks out onto the furniture.
Somewhere Cass hears his phone buzz. Mallorie pulls him up for air not long after that. He whines despite himself as her soft cock slides out of his mouth. Pre-cum and drool pour down his face and across his chest. There’s a nervous look in Mallorie’s eyes. She grabs his face and sternly says, “The rest of the band is coming backstage. If anyone asks you, you said yes to everything, okay?”
Cass’s brain can hardly process what’s going on before voices fill the room. He turns and screams. Jack Rynhouse! Axel Lee! Cass’s mind fills with band posters and distant glimpses on stage. His idols, soaked in sweat from their encore and reeking of booze, standing at the door laughing to each other. Cass is the most naked he’s ever felt in his entire life. He tries uselessly to cover himself, pulling his legs together in Mallorie’s lap.
“So this is why you missed the final set, you crazy slut!” Jack laughs out loud, waving a cigarette in Cass’s direction. Cass flushes red, heat spreading down his chest and into his cunt. Jack is undeniably the hottest guy in the band (doubly so now that Mallorie transitioned) and his spiky features make him the dream of countless teenage girls. If Cass’s friends knew that he was naked and shivering in front of Jack fucking Rynhouse, they’d lose their minds. But Jack looks right through Cass, like he’s an object left behind in the dressing room. “Who’s the new dog?”
“It’s a stray I found in the alley. It’ll be spending the weekend keeping my bed warm.” Mallorie scratched behind Cass’s ears, and even in his drunken stupor, some voice cut through. You never talked about that! What is she talking about? Is she going to fucking kidnap you?
“Cute.” Jack smirks as he throws the butt of his cigarette at Cass, watching the younger boy squirm in pain while he wipes the ash off his tit. Cass’s hips grind against the wet patch on the couch. Some part of him realizes that patch is his fault.
Axel, always the quiet one, with his long shaggy hair and gentle eyes, kneels down next to the naked boy.
“You look familiar. A couple years ago, there was a signing…?”
Cass nods and mumbles, “Yeah that was me. I love you guys.”
Axel frowns and looks at Mallorie with a combination of concern and disgust. A cold shiver runs through Cass’s spine, and his stomach churns. The first time I met him I was fourteen. I cried like a little girl. Now I’m humping his bandmate’s couch like a useless fucking dog. But accompanying that thought is another one, and the two combined nearly makes Cass throw up onto Axel’s boots. He realizes, in the sickening clarity of the gaze between Mallorie and Axel, that he is not the first boy she has raped like this.
Axel puts his hand on Cass’s naked shoulder. His hands are calloused, rougher than Mallorie’s, but safer somehow. “Hey, are you cool? Do you need anything?”
If anyone would help you, it’s Axel. Look at him, he’s genuinely concerned! Maybe he’ll help me, if I just say something. I’m sure I could get his help, if I just…
Mallorie’s nails dig into the base of Cass’s shoulderblade. Cass takes a deep breath, the first full one in at least an hour, and shakes his head. He wants to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m fine. I’m...I want to be here.”
A shadow crosses Axel’s face. He looks away, stands up, and silently leaves the room.
Mallorie kisses Cass’s neck with a gentleness she hasn’t demonstrated all night, and whispers in his ear. “Good boy.”
What’s one more little lie?