(S)Punk Rock Show

Ed blindly twisted the tuning peg of his bass’ E-string, thanking the audience for their support. He adjusted his cheap Mediterranean marketplace rip-off Ray-Bans and threw the guitarist—the Diva—an approving glance.

As always on stage, he reminded himself why he, a guitarist of over twenty years, had filled the vacancy as bassist in a barely-three-chord amateur punk band: he didn’t need the hype—nor the pathetically young groupies that preferably swarmed the sun-kissed, long-haired dreamy-looking surfer beau who could barely count to four, let alone play non-accidental free jazz on his out-of-tune Duesenberg. Teeth for a blowjob, he chuffed in his thoughts, signature grin on his lips.

Ed preferred to be the weirdo in the background, radiant in his sheer presence, eccentric performance and shrill attire: fluorescent-laced, worn-out Bordeaux-colored doc Marten’s, baby blue Bermuda shorts, synthetic unbuttoned Hawaii shirt revealing his xylophone-rib abdomen and a reversed baseball cap with his favorite rapper’s logo on it. Why? Because punk rock, that’s why! Even the washed-out fifties rug bass strap only added injury to this blatant insult to the eyes and yet he pulled the stunt with his trademark knowing grin.

He crouched to grab his PET water bottle he had re-filled with can-beer. “Only water bottles allowed on stage,” the club manager had said. Needless to mention, this had not prevented Ed to get his habitual piss-warm stage beer. No good punk shows were ever played sober.

As he toasted to the audience, one particular fan stepped to the stage, empty cup in hand. Giggling, Ed poured some beer into Fanboy’s container, spilling half of it over the dude’s face. Laughing, Fanboy reached up to grope Ed’s half-exposed, pitifully malnourished-looking belly.

“You gotta look for that a little bit lower,” Ed huskily mouthed into the microphone; a quick glance to his girlfriend who was shaking her head, laughing.

Advertisement

“Let me tighten the strap of my ax to give you access.” Of course, he wore his instrument as low as possible; who wanted to play in a prissy dream-son-in-law band anyway? Not him, that’s who!

“Just for you, I’m gonna strap it higher and go full Sunday school cover band bassist for one song,” he offered, adjusting the strap. A murmuring in the audience accompanied the action.

Sneering self-contently, he threw his girl a kiss as her eyes widened when Fanboy indeed unzipped Ed’s fly and she realized what she was about to witness.

“We’ll play our extra-long song for you—that’s almost three minutes! We even had to introduce a fourth chord—impressive, right? Who knew progressive punk was a thing—fuck, you know what you’re doing!” His last words came out moaned from the feeling of the unkempt stubbles grazing the shaft of his steel-hard erection.

The murmuring was slowly turning to cheering as Ed’s girlfriend stepped closer and tousled Fanboy’s hair for motivation. Ed pointed to Fanboy who was now tastefully gobbling down his cock and nodded towards his bandmates who were dumbstruck by the unexpected turn of events, somewhat jealous of under what circumstances the forgettable instrumentalist in the band got his dick wet. Diva shook his head in disbelief, eyes bristling with disgust and envy while the drummer just shrugged it off as nothing really surprising anymore in the ever-growing list of bassist anecdotes.

The drummer casually began his intro solo.

Advertisement

“Alright, gang, this song’s called ‘Bend Over For…’” Ed announced while the drums were rolling, holding the microphone to the audience.

“The Government!!” came the unanimous response of the roughly eighty people, followed by applause for their favorite song.

Ed hooked the micro back to the stand and gave the guitarist the starting signal. “And it goes: A-one! A-two! Suck-my-dick-biiitch!” in his signature shouting.

Fast-paced, riff by riff, line by line, they performed the song without fault. Ed’s girlfriend rubbed her erect bra-less nipples against Fanboy’s back and ran her hands over his belly under his t-shirt while he was sucking off her stage hero.

Fanboy gave his best at keeping up with Ed’s ecstatic banging and thrashing. Even while getting his balls cradled, shaft pumped to the beat and glans tongued, his bass licks were surgically precise and his backing vocals came with their habitual razor-sharpness, if only with a slightly moaning undertone that grew in distinctiveness as the song went on.

Fanboy sensually slurped Ed’s tip and carefully mapped the veins on the sturdy meat with his lips, making Ed’s signature shouted interjections turn into gasps, hisses and ‘fucks’ while his girl, still feeling up Fanboy, had one hand between her spread legs, overtly rubbing her swollen cameltoe.

Advertisement

By the half-tempo bridge, the two-voiced arc turned into whining, emphasizing the tragic lyrics—and the contrast that Ed’s wailing was caused by something far from grievous. The absurd contradiction between the song’s anger and the lust in his voice spurred Fanboy on to keep setting the bassist’s loins ablaze. Ed’s cum was near-boiling in his exquisitely worshiped balls.

By the last chorus, his voice was laden with fervor and euphoria, the ultimate, stretched syllable moaned in ecstasy as his cock started pulsating to the driving uff-dah-uff-dah beat. The spasms in his shaft made his spunk fly into Fanboy’s eagerly awaiting mouth in a rhythmically interwoven 3/8-pattern to the 4/4-rhythm, causing Ed to bend the notes in his outro solo just that dissonant microtonal quarter above the intended blue note, making them sound that extra bit more mournful.

By the song’s end, Ed collapsed to his knees, cock already shrinking to its hibernation state. He watched how his girlfriend, damp patch visibly all over her crotch, approached Fanboy and made a show of making out with him and get her helping of her lover’s cum off Fanboy’s tongue.

In his post-orgasmic bliss, Ed’s senses seemed to fail him for a brief moment until the ‘encore’ shouts helped him back on his feet, zip up, loosen the strap again and take a sip of his beer, satisfied crooked smile on his lips.

“Hold your standing ovulations! Plenty more where that came from!”

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Advertisement
Updated: August 14, 2021 — 8:09 am
XNXX x Sex Stories © 2021 Design By Your Daddy