Fucking Band Groupies

Kleio and Kristina waited in the hall, thighs shifting in fishnet stockings, eyes fixed on the narrow door that led to Nathan Explosion. Minutes dragged. Their patience burned down to smoke and ash. “Fuck this,” Kristina said, grabbing Kleio’s wrist. They slipped into an empty dressing room. Kleio slammed the door, pinned Kristina against the cool cinderblock wall, and shoved her tongue deep into her mouth. The kiss was wet, urgent, edged with the copper bite of smeared lipstick. Kristina answered by sliding her knee between Kleio’s legs and grinding until the fishnet scraped raw heat across damp underwear. They dropped to the grimy couch. Kleio yanked Kristina’s skirt up, the black denim bunching like a rope at her hips, and dragged two fingers straight through the soaked crotch of her thong. “Christ, you’re dripping,” she muttered, then pushed the lace aside and drove two knuckles inside, curling hard. Kristina bucked, heels drumming on the cushions. The room filled with sharp, wet sounds—the heavy rhythm of breath and finger-fucking. Kleio added a third finger, thumb flattening against the swollen clit, working fast until Kristina’s moans came in short, chopping bursts. Kristina arched, grabbed a fistful of Kleio’s long pink hair, and twisted her down between parted thighs. Kleio licked once, flat and filthy, then sealed her mouth and sucked. Kristina’s hips rocked, grinding the whole sticky length of her cunt across Kleio’s tongue. The first orgasm rolled through like feedback through an amp—sharp, loud, legs shaking. Kleio licked through it, growling against sensitive flesh. When Kleio sat up her lips shone. Kristina pulled her into a brutal kiss, tasting herself, then shoved Kleio onto her back and ripped the studded belt from her waist. Jeans shoved to mid-thigh, she curled two fingers deep and rode them like a cock, hips snapping while she rubbed Kleio’s clit in tight, fast circles. The second climax came quieter: Kleio’s breath caught, her nails cut crescents into Kristina’s ass, and she bit her own lip to keep the noise down. They lay panting, thighs still trembling. Somewhere down the hall a guitar thundered through the wall. Backstage without the band could still be loud enough.