by Molly Moore
Close up of hair brush for masturbating

Your main character’s favourite band/artist is coming to town, and they will do anything to get back stage…

Close up of hair brush for masturbatingGetting past security was easy. That isn’t always the case, some venues are tougher than others but this little lot played along nicely. Of course looking like one of the mothers of the desperate little tweens crowding around the stage door helps as does Kelsey. Despite there being no Kelsey in reality, she continues to be a useful distraction in my game. Sometimes she goes missing, sometimes she is sick and on this occasion she is my little darling who won the ‘meet the band’ competition. I don’t use that excuse often as I have found it is the least likely to work but there was just something about the slightly lost and chaotic look of the security at this venue that made me think they might just fall for it. Which they did, ushering me in through the crowd of desperates and pointing me to the stage manager’s office whom they assured me would be able to reunite me with my precious Kelsey.

Of course once inside the rest is easy. These venues are always busy inside, no one really knows anyone else, there are the venue staff, the band staff, the VIP’s, and I have learned that as long as you look confident and like you are meant to be there everyone assumes you’re with ‘the other lot’. Oh and just like on the door, a middle-aged woman, with neat hair and clothes, a purpose to her walk and a cheery smile on her face is probably the most invisible person on the world to these types of people.

Finding your room can be tougher though but experience gives me, yet again, an upper hand. I have come to learn that backstage layouts are fairly universal regardless of whether the venue was built 100 years ago or 10 years ago. The more modern the venue the easier they are though, although the old venues’ which tend to be a rabbit warren of corridors and stairs leading down into the bowels of the building are nearly always obliging with sign post to important things like, stage entrance, toilets and of course the all important dressing rooms. Which luckily is the case with this venue and so with the sound of you and the band throbbing above my head, I find the right corridor and slip unnoticed into your room.

It is like coming home. I have never been in this room before and yet it feels so familiar to me. There is always a mirror and the chair is always positioned in front of it and across the counter top your belongings lay strewn where you left them before dashing out the door to take the stage; which is your natural habitat in many ways but this place, this is where you sit with your true self and your little secrets. I loved watching you on stage but the need for more became overwhelming and after I got back stage that first time I have all but forgotten about the stage you in preference to knowing you more intimately.

Sliding the lock closed on the door to this sanctuary I sit down in your chair. Your make-up is laid out in front of me and flicking on the lights round the mirror I proceed to pick through the various bits you like to use to decorate your face and start applying them to mine. Most of this stuff I have touched before but you have a new lipstick, a dark blood-red, that when I apply it to my lips looks almost black. The thought of it touching your lips and my lips makes me wet. I think about slipping it into my pocket and taking it with me. it wouldn’t be the first time but to be honest you haven’t used it enough yet and so I leave it on the table exactly where I found it. I shall return for it another time.

Beside the chair there is your little wheelie bag which I unzip with a breathless excitement. What gift did you bring me this time? You rarely disappoint but some things are more desirable than others. Underwear is my favourite, but I also like books. I often leave you little smears of my lust for in amongst the pages, hoping that you will accidentally touch them as you turn the pages. Today is a really good day though, as you have half a dozen pairs of panties for me to pick from. I put each one to my face, breathing in the smell of your clothes looking for the sign that will tell me which if them you have worn and which you have not. The last pair I pick up, plain white cotton boy shorts are the ones on this occasion. The ripe scent of your cunt fills my nostrils even before I get it close to my face. Sometimes I wish I could bottle you, or your scent at least, but sadly if I have found that if I try to take your scent home with me the compulsion to soil it with my own body fluids is too strong I soon lose you in my own filthy smells which tends to make me angry. The best way is to enjoy as much of you as I can right here.

The hairbrush is my favourite but you don’t always leave it in your dressing room. Today is a good day though, not only is it here but it is covered in a tangle of your bright red hair which I gentle loosen from the brush and push down inside my bra. Later tonight when I undress evidence of our time spent together will fall from my body and I will gather it up and place it carefully in the box along with all the other parts of you I have.

The handle of the hairbrush slides into me with ease, you own womanly scent pressed against my face has my own juices flowing in anticipation of this moment with you. Watching myself in the mirror as I slowly fuck myself for you, the sound of your own performance out on stage pulses through the room. I know by the song just how long I have left and as a result the hand between my thighs quicken but I need both hands now to do this properly and so I push the crotch of your dirty panties into my mouth and savour the sweet taste of you on my tongue whilst overhead your music thuds away creating the perfect raunchy soundtrack for my orgasm in your name. It shudders through me just as the sound of the audience chanting for more tells me that you are also in the final throes of tonight’s fun. My timing is, as per usual, impeccable.

I leave the brush exactly where I found it, the lights in the room, make my juices shine but I know by the time you get here they will have dried enough that they will unnoticeable to you. Hopefully later your hand will grip at the place where my cunt muscles just gripped in orgasm.

The lack of music tells me it time to hurry. You are not ready to find me here just yet, we have a way to go before that happens. First I intend to write to you and tell you everything I know about you. Just the thought of you reading that letter and learning about how special you are to me, makes my juices start to flow all over again. Maybe I should start taking pictures too, imagine how exciting that would be for you to find when you return to your dressing room but we mustn’t hurry these things. I want it to last. I have so much of you now and intend to keep it like that for a long time yet.

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John July 1, 2014 - 1:12 am

Definitely creepy.

That poor singer will freak out when she is exposed to the truth.

And if it was me, that hairbrush would be burnt on learning the facts!

Excellent write 😉

Mariasibylla July 1, 2014 - 4:36 am

So good! It very delicately gets creepier and creepier until you’re suddenly thinking – What!?

Reply July 1, 2014 - 5:31 am

I can feel all the ‘juices’ flowing around in this post!

Stranded July 1, 2014 - 12:28 pm

Gorgeously dark…and now, I suspect, I’ll never look at the handle of a hairbrush the same way again.


Cammies on the Floor July 1, 2014 - 3:36 pm

You did the dark and creepy thing perfectly! How scary that would be, to discover a person like that.

Marie Rebelle July 2, 2014 - 1:56 pm

It got creepier and creepier as I read on… but I love it!

Great, sexy story.

Rebel xox


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