Rocker's Revenge

It was the last number in their set, and the fans were going wild. The sound level was deafening, and the 10,000-strong audience was a heaving, screaming sea of blackness beyond the megawatts of light that flooded the stage.

This was the band's final night of their sell-out tour, and the five boys were high on adrenaline, feeding off their fans' hysteria, prancing and strutting in a frenzy of theatrical machismo: At the back of the stage Brad, bare-chested, with his long blond hair, denim shorts and DMs, bounced up and down on the stool, thrashing the drums and cymbals with manic fury. On the right, leather-clad Damien - surrounded by banks of synthesizers and with his face almost completely obscured by his jet-black, shoulder-length hair, rocked in time with the driving beat while pounding two DX7 keyboards at the same time. The other three boys had the front of the stage: Scott, seemingly oblivious to the shrieking girls reaching desperately towards him over the stage apron, stood with his thin, tight-jeaned legs impossibly wide apart, as he handled his bass guitar like a gigantic phallus, thrusting it out from his crotch and stroking the long shaft sensuously; Joey, lead guitarist and - as far as the screaming, mostly-female audience were concerned - the second most shaggable boy on the stage with his cute, boyish looks and to-die-for body held his Stratocaster high in the air as if it were a flaming sword - which was perfectly in keeping with his general appearance of a Viking warrior. He wore a studded wristband, motorcycle boots and clinging, brown lace-up sided leather jeans which were straining under the pressure of his rock-solid thigh muscles. His bare chest glistened with sweat - the perspiration running down and dropping off his well-defined pecs onto the black stage floor, and his long brown hair cascaded over his shoulders like liquid gold. But it was Brett - the band's lead vocalist - who the girls most wanted to shag. Voted "sexiest male in heavy rock" in no less than five magazines, he also had a stage presence which had taken the band from playing in sleazy nightclubs to their current position as one of the best-selling rock bands of all time. To most of the teenage girls in the United States - (and, less overtly, to many of the boys as well) Brett Crossley was sex on legs. Standing over 6ft 3 inches tall, with startlingly blue eyes, long blond hair, a square face that managed to be both incredibly masculine and stunningly cute at the same time, and a body that was late-teenage, gym-trained perfection, he possessed an aura of a Nordic sex god. He was also reputed to be the owner of one of the biggest cocks in the business - and judging by the bulge in his skintight, faded denim jeans, that reputation was not unfounded. His sleeveless, studded black leather jacket contrasted richly with the bronze skin of his smooth chest, and his black bike boots were covered in straps and chains. A pair of chrome handcuffs dangled from the studded belt slung low over his hips - handcuffs which had figured largely in many thousands of teenage girls' wet dreams.

The band had chosen "I'm Gonna Get Ya" as their closing number for several reasons: it was their best-selling track; it was fast and furious; it had a solo for each of the musicians; and it could be extended indefinitely. Also the lyrics addressed directly their audience's desire to be overpowered and sexually dominated by the horny young men on stage.

They were eight minutes into the number, and Brett was screaming the words of the chorus, while teasing the girls at the front of the stage by getting close to them, stroking his massively-bulging crotch slowly through the thin faded denim, and then jumping back out of reach to avoid their frantic groping.

I'M GONNA GET YA!
I'M GONNA GET YA!
GONNA TIE YOU UP SO YOU CAN'T GET OUT,
GONNA GAG YOUR MOUTH SO YOU CAN'T EVEN SHOUT,
GONNA PEEL MY JEANS OFF NICE AND SLOW,
GONNA FUCK YOU LIKE AN ENGINE THAT'S ABOUT TO BLOW!
YEAH I'M GONNA GET YOU!
I'M GONNA GET YOU, GIRLLLLLL!!

He threw the microphone high into the air, did a spin, caught it, and leapt to the back of the stage as several girls fainted, and Joey went into his long lead guitar solo. Brett took a swig from a bottle of iced Coke and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he jumped up onto the drum plinth and beat a cross-rhythm on the two largest tom-toms. Brad grinned and pounded his drum kit even harder in response.

Brett was flying - he loved heavy rock, he loved the fame and the money, he loved being the sex-object of thousands of fuckable girls, and he loved performing on stage. At that precise moment, there was nowhere else in the world he would rather have been - and he wanted it to go on forever.

He punched Brad playfully on the shoulder, picked up a spare drumstick, and jumped down from the plinth. Joey was well into his solo now, making his Strat scream and dive with ear-shattering harmonics. He often leapt about, but now he was stood rock-solid, legs wide apart and eyes screwed up tight in concentration, as he made his guitar soar in a complex improvisation. He was rated one of the world's top guitarists, and right now he was proving it.

With a wicked grin, Brett sneaked up and stood directly behind him. He waited for a moment, then lay down on the floor and pushed himself forward between Joey's spread legs. As his shoulder brushed Joey's booted foot, the guitarist opened his eyes and grinned down at Brett, parting his feet even further to let the boy through. Brett took the drumstick and, starting just above the top of Joey's boot, ran the tip slowly up the inside of his thigh. The girls screamed their approval, and Brett, feeling very wicked now, ran the end of the stick from side to side over the bulge of Joey's cock. The guitarist's brown leather jeans were kidskin - intentionally thin, stretchy, and skin-tight, to pricktease the girls as much as possible - and he could feel every movement of the stick over his cock. Brett traced the outline of the boy's cock, and ran the drumstick up and down the shaft. Each time it passed over the boy's cockhead, Joey's dick jerked inside his jeans - and it started to get hard.

Joey shook his head, grinning, and stepped forward out of Brett's reach and closer to the screaming fans. Brett jumped up, threw the drumstick out into the audience (where a fight for it caused two black eyes and a broken nose), and again took up a position directly behind Joey. He placed his hands lightly on the guitarist's hips, then ran them over the front of the boy's thighs. Joey pushed his arse back and forth into Brett's crotch in time with the music, as if he were getting fucked by the sexy vocalist. Two girls at the front began to cry with lust, tears of frustration running down their made-up faces.

The solo was a classic - Joey was making the guitar do things he'd never managed before. In a rush of adrenaline he lifted the Strat up high above his head and did amazing runs at the very top of the fretboard.

Brett gripped Joey's elbows from behind, supporting him and sharing the pure joy of the screaming guitar. Then, after a few moments, and on impulse, he slowly slid his hands down Joey's upstretched bare arms, and tickled the boy's armpits.

Joey convulsed, and missed several runs on the Strat, pulling his arms down to protect his ticklish pits - but Brett was loving this. He kept his hands there, now trapped in place in Joey's armpits, and wiggled his fingers. Joey was losing it, and tried to pull away, but Brett held him there, tickling all the time. Joey couldn't think straight - he was incredibly ticklish, and the solo was suffering. With a yell of rage he twisted his body, pulling himself free of Brett's hands. He ran and jumped over to the side of the stage, narrowly missing Scott, and got the solo back under control. The fans hadn't realized anything was wrong, and had loved it. A roar of applause and whistles rose from the crowd.

The rest of the solo went well, and all four boys screamed the last chorus together. With a short drum break, followed by a simultaneous leap in the air by everyone on the last ear-splitting chord, the lights went off abruptly and Kraken had finished their set.

In the darkness, Brad jumped down from the drum plinth, Damien came out of the forest of synthesizers, and the five boys ran to the front of the stage to take their bows. The lights came on and they waved, gave the girls the finger, and rubbed their crotches as the audience screamed and hammered their approval. Then, led by Brett, they ran off stage and down to their dressing room.

* * *

"What the fuck were you doing, you fucking idiot?" Joey had Brett pushed against a wall. "You ruined my fucking solo, you prick."

Brett pushed the guitarist away, snarling. "They fucking loved it. Lighten up, asshole."

"Yeah? Well FUCK YOU, shithead." He shouted after Brett as the singer disappeared into the bathroom for a pee.

Scott was leaning against the door, grinning. "Give him some space, Jo - he didn't mean to fuck you up. It was a fucking good gig." Joey grunted as Scott passed him a joint.

"The best," agreed Brad. The drummer was lying on the settee, toweling the sweat off his body - his shorts sticking to him like a second skin.

Damien was sat on the edge of a table, slowly playing with his cock through his tight black leather jeans. "I think our Brett needs taking down a peg."

"Damn right," said Joey.

"Let's get him when he comes out." Damien's hand was squeezing his cock bulge more insistently now.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Let's hold the fucker down and tickle the shit outta him."

Brad sat up straight. "Hey yeah! Teach the fucker a lesson."

They heard the toilet flush.

"No, wait," said Brad, "Let's do it in the bus. Better.... facilities. We can tie him to the bed. I'll go and get things sorted."

"Yeah! OK.!"

When Brett reappeared, zipping up his fly, Brad was closing the door behind him. Brett sank into an armchair and crossed his legs at the ankles. "Fucking shit man, that was ace. Best we've done."

"No shit, man." Joey passed the joint to Brett, who smiled as he took it.

Brett took a slow drag, held the smoke for a while, then exhaled through his nose. He looked around. "Where's Brad?"

"He's knackered. Said he'd see us on the bus," lied Joey pleasantly.

Brett nodded, and applied himself to the joint again.

* * *

The bus was huge. Painted black and silver, with smoked windows, it was state-of-the-art luxury. They'd had it for a year, and it was home from home for the boys. It contained two double bedrooms, a lounge with settee and armchairs, a bar, shower, large bathroom, and a games room with a jukebox, a pinball machine, and five computers - two with Internet connections. Brad took off his shorts, toweled his crotch dry, and pulled on his tightest ripped denim jeans. He tucked them into a pair of DMs, and then set about collecting some gear to use on Brett. He got ropes and straps from the instrument storage locker, and handcuffs from the wardrobe. He was just about the close the wardrobe door when he saw a black leather bandanna lying on the floor. With a smile, he added it to his collection - it would do as a blindfold. He hid everything under the bed, and lay down to await the rest of the band's arrival. This, he thought, was going to be fun.

The band filed out of the stage door and ran the gauntlet of the milling fans who were being kept at bay by a line of policemen. They piled into the bus and the door closed behind them with a pneumatic hiss. Joey thumbed the intercom and spoke to the driver in his separate compartment. "You there, Mick?"

"Sure am. Whenever you're ready. Brill gig, by the way - fucking brill."

"Thanks. Yeah, take it away -" he glanced round to make sure Brett wasn't too close - the singer was pouring himself a Scotch at the bar - "and take it nice and slow, OK? Real slow."

"You want slow, you got it." The intercom clicked off and the bus began to move out into the flow of traffic. At Mick's normal speed it would take them a couple of hours or so to get back to LA from here, but Joey was counting on a lot longer trip than that this time.

Damien caught Joey's eye and winked, then he said to everyone, "I'm gonna check on Brad. He didn't look too good when he went out." He disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

A couple of minutes later he was back, looking worried. "Hey guys, I think you better check on Brad. He won't wake up."

The boys put their drinks down and went into the bedroom. Brad lay on his back on the bed, eyes closed. Joey shook his arm "Hey Brad - Brad! Wake up!" The drummer didn't move. Damien quietly reached under the bed and picked up the ropes that Brad had put there.

"Here, let me look." Brett leaned over the boy and lifted one of his eyelids. At that moment Brad's eyes snapped open and he yelled "Now!" He grabbed Brett's head and held it as the others got his arms and legs, and wrestled him down onto the bed. In seconds flat they had Brett spread-eagled, his wrists and ankles securely roped to the corners of the bed.

It had all happened so fast that Brett had had little time to react.

Now, however, he went ballistic. "What the fuck are you doing? Let me up, you fucking cocksuckers." He didn't know whether to laugh or be angry. This must be a joke of some sort.

Having got Brett helpless, the rest of the band stood back and waited for someone to take the lead. They weren't sure what to do now.

Joey knew exactly what to do, though. He knelt by the side of the bed, close to Brett's face, and grinned. "Now then fucker - it's payback time."

"What the fuck you talking about, man?"

Beginning at his shoulder, Joey ran his fingers slowly down the front of the singer's sleeveless black leather jacket, over his studded belt, over the massive mound of his cock, and down the leg of his jeans to his motorcycle boot.

"Hey man, get your fucking hands off me. Whaddya think I am, queer?"

"No," whispered Joey, "I know you're not queer, Brett - but I think you are.... TICKLISH!" He ran the fingers of his other hand suddenly over Brett's armpit, and the boy let out a shriek that almost rattled the windows. "N-no - don't do that! Let me up, you fuckers. It was a good joke but that's it. Now let me up."

Joey shook his head. "Oh no - you ain't going nowhere for a long time......" He turned to nod to the others, then looked back at the helpless boy on the bed. "You're gonna find out what it's like to get TICKLED."

The others closed in, waggling their fingers and grinning wickedly.

Damien had been standing towards the back, playing with his cock through his jeans. Now, he came forward and picked up the bandanna. He folded it diagonally and, with Joey's help, got it tied around Brett's head. The black leather blindfolded the boy very effectively.

"No. NO! Fuck off, you lot. Fuck O - HAHAHA!! NN- NO!! HAHA!!!!! NO! NOOO!!" There were fingers everywhere - on his armpits, his nipples, his sides, his ribs, his knees, his thighs - and he couldn't stand it. He began to scream. "AAAAIIIIIIGGGGGHHHH!!!! NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!! PLEEEASE!!"

The boys ignored his protests and settled down to tickle the helpless hunk with enthusiasm.

After a while they let Brett have a rest. A joint was passed round, Joey holding it for Brett while he sucked on it. During this break, Damien began to undo Brett's motorcycle boots. Carefully sliding the restraining rope up the boy's calves, he removed first one boot and then the other, replacing the rope tightly around the now bear ankle. Brett never wore socks under his boots, and his feet were hot and sweaty - and a bit smelly. That didn't put Damien off, however. Experimentally, he ran a fingernail down Brett's left sole - and was rewarded with a shout of hysterical laughter. "OK boys," he said, "help yourselves!"

With Damien working on one foot, Scott on the other, Brad tickling his armpits and Joey digging stiff fingers into his sides and ribs, Brett was reduced to a screaming, pleading jelly in seconds. He struggled with all his considerable strength, and often someone had to re-tie one or other of the ropes where Brett had pulled it loose.

Brett thought he was going to go insane. The bastards didn't give him time to get his breath or to prepare himself for the next attack - there was always someone tickling some sensitive part of his body or other. He couldn't see them, and he couldn't stop them. In fact all he could do was lie there and take it. And scream. He wasn't sure which was the worst - the fingers tickling his feet (that was totally fucking unbearable); those working on his armpits (oh fuck! His armpits!!): or the fiend tickling his ribs and his sides (Aaaaaaaarrrrghh!!!). But altogether, all at the same time - it was slowly but surely sending him mad. He couldn't stand it. He would pass out, he knew it. This was by far the single most horrendous thing that had ever happened to him. And he was helpless to do anything about it. That was probably the worst part - he couldn't protect himself however much he tried. He struggled and writhed, twisted and kicked, but none of it did him any good.

And then he realized something else - something very, very bad - he was getting a hard-on.

His jeans had been very carefully chosen to show off to its best possible advantage his cock-bulge and rock-solid thighs. They were skin-tight faded denim, and clung to him as if they had been sprayed on. Everything he possessed was clearly outlined for all to see - and when he got a hard-on it did not go unnoticed.

"Hey guys - look!" It was Scott who realized what was happening first. He was pointing to the growing erection inside Brett's jeans.

"Well looka that! Pretty boy's getting a stiffie!" Brad laughed.

Brett was going red under the bandanna. "FUCK OFF!" He shouted.

"Here," said Joey, "let's see how big we can get it." He moved his hands down from Brett's sides and began to trace the growing outline of the boy's huge cock. With the other hand he ticked Brett's balls through the thin denim.

Brett struggled to get away from his touch, to get Joey's hand off his cock, but the restraints made it impossible. He clenched his teeth and swore at them.

The response was immediate. Brett's cock jerked and its increasing stiffness forced it to rearrange itself, moving up to lie horizontally across his left thigh. Joey followed it, squeezing the shaft and scratching his fingernails gently over the clearly-defined cockhead. A single drop of precum oozed out of the tip and made a darker stain on the denim under his finger.

Whooping with delight, the rest of the boys returned to tickling the poor helpless boy mercilessly.

Now, along with the unbearable tickling, Brett was also having his cock and balls teased. He thrashed about on the bed but could not get away from any of it. His cock continued to get harder.....

.... and harder....

.... and harder.

After a couple of minutes it was fully erect. All the boys had seen Brett's cock many times before in the showers and changing rooms - but it had always been soft. Now, it was fully hard - and threatening to burst his faded jeans.

"Fuck me, will ya look at that!" Scott was impressed.

Damien nudged Joey, 'Hey - let's get his jeans off and tickle his bollocks."

The boys piled onto Brett, pulled his jeans off and re-fastened the ankle ropes. They stood back and, after Damien removed the bandanna from over Brett's eyes, Scott took a picture with his digital camera. It was something worth photographing: lying on the bed was a 6ft 3 inch perfect specimen of late teenage manhood, naked, spread-eagled, cute and beautiful - and with an enormous, fully-erect cock standing up like a flagpole between his legs.

Brad ran out of the bedroom and returned a few seconds later with a ruler. He measured the boy's cock. "Jesus! Nine and three-quarter inches! Fuck me! Or rather please don't!!"

The boys laughed, then set to work tickling Brett again. While Scott worked on his feet and Brad on his armpits, Joey began to tickle the boy's genitals and thighs. With a feather-light touch, he ran the fingers of one hand up and down the throbbing shaft, lingering on the engorged cockhead, while with the other he tickled Brett's balls, thighs and perineum.

"Oh fuck!! STOP! You bastards! I'm gonna CUM!!!!!"

"Wanna bet?" Grinned Joey. He removed his hand from Brett's cock and just continued tickling his balls, leaving the boy's dick stabbing the air in frustration.

Joey was kneeling at the side of the bed, his legs apart and his own cock rock-hard inside his brown kidskin leather jeans. Quietly, Damien knelt behind him, reached around his waist and began to squeeze Joey's cock through the leather. Joey glanced back, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then unfastened his jeans and pulled them down to his knees. He returned to ticking Brett's cock and balls, having given Damien tacit permission to continue paying with him.

Damien moved closer, pressing his crotch tight against Joey's bare arse and then, with both arms wrapped around the boy's middle, began to jack Joey off. In turn, Joey's rising level of horniness made him more sadistic in his treatment of Brett's cock - he tickled and teased the poor boy mercilessly - taking him to new levels of sexual frustration. All the while the others were still working on Brett's other ticklish spots, and the hunky young rock star was both hysterical from the tickling and in desperate need of orgasm. The bed rocked with his efforts to struggle free of the torment, but the restraints kept him helpless.

With a yell, Joey came - his spunk spurting onto the side of the bed.

Damien continued milking the boy until he was dry. Joey stopped tickling Brett and got up. He was now feeling post-orgasmic embarrassment. "I'm gonna get a drink." He pulled his jeans up and went back into the lounge.

Damien grinned up at the others. "OK - who's next?"

There was a second's pause, and then Scott took Joey's place in front of Damien. He leaned over the side of the bed and began playing with Brett's cock - which brought fresh groans and struggles from the singer. Damien reached between Scott's legs and started to massage the boy's erect cock through his tight denim jeans. Scott was getting into tickling Brett's balls and arsehole now, and made no move to undo his own jeans, so Damien did it for him, sliding the tight black denim down the boy's thighs to his knees. He wrapped his hand around the boy's uncut cock and began to jack him off.

Scott took a long time to cum - time in which he, as Joey had done, became more and more enthusiastic in his torment of Brett's desperate, aching dick. He gently slid the end of one finger into the singer's arsehole, and actually licked the end of the boy's cock while tickling his balls. Like Joey, Scott was straight, but he was so turned on by what he was doing to Brett - and also by what Damien was doing to him - that he was really getting into it. He began to thrust his hips back against the cool leather of Damien's jeans, feeling the boy's own erect cock pushing against his arsehole. Damien responded by doing to him what Scott was doing to Brett: he licked his middle finger and slowly inserted it into Scott's hole. That tipped Scott over the edge, and he came violently, adding his spunk to the drying pool of Joey's on the bed and the floor.

Scott stood up and grinned self-consciously, then muttered something about joining Joey for a drink, and left. Damien smiled up at Brad invitingly.

He hesitated for a moment, then replaced the leather bandanna over Brett's eyes before taking his pace in front of Damien. Unlike the others, however, he knelt on the bed between Brett's legs, with his knees parted. His denim jeans were ripped in many places - one large tear being across the top of his right thigh. Damien played with his own bulging cock for a few seconds as he looked at the view in front of him - the blond, barechested drummer, kneeling with his arse in the air, legs parted - the skintight blue denim of his jeans making his bubble-butt one of the most inviting sights Damien had ever seen.

Damien repositioned himself so he was behind Brad, and began to play with the boy's cock bulge as he had done the others. Brad had his fingers wrapped around Brett's huge cock very lightly, and was jacking him very, very slowly - making the singer squirm with the renewed, desperately urgent need to cum. But at least Brett wasn't being tickled anywhere else any more. Brett wasn't sure if this was any relief, though - because now he was forced to concentrate on his cock and his overwhelming desire for orgasm without any other distractions.

Brad's other hand was tickling the boy's balls and lightly stroking his muscular thighs.

Damien made a move to unfasten Brad's tight jeans, but the drummer gently stopped him, and guided his hand instead to the large rip in the denim across his thigh. Damien got the idea, and forced his hand inside and up, gripping Brad's cock and pulling it - and his balls - out through the tear. He began to jack the blond drummer off, but Brad started to move as if to keep his hand off his cock. Damien wasn't quite sure what to do, so he kept his hand there, jacking the boy slowly. Brad was groaning with lust now, his attention split between what he was doing to Brett, and the wonderful feelings of Damien's hand milking his cock.

Damien's free hand had been teasing Brad's balls, but was now stroking the boy's arse through his jeans. He ran it across the drummer's buttocks, down the back of his leg, and then in between the boy's thighs. This was evidently what Brad had been waiting for, as he suddenly closed his knees tightly together and rolled onto his side, trapping Damien's hand between the very tops of his legs. He began to make struggling movements, as if he was trying to get away from what Damien was doing, and finally Damien understood. He forced his hand further in between the boy's thighs, and increased the speed of his jacking hand. Brad squirmed on the bed as if he were tied up himself, and trying to get away from Damien's fingers - but Damien continued milking the boy's cock, following his movements and making it impossible for him to get away.

Brad was in heaven. He was sucking the tip of Brett's cock, tickling the shaft and the boy's balls, really getting off on frustrating the singer's need to cum. Occasionally his hands left Brett's genitals and made surprise tickling attacks on his armpits, ribs, sides or, reaching back, on his sensitive, ticklish feet.

Brett was hysterical and beside himself with the overpowering, imperative need for orgasm. He had never in his life been in this position before - needing to cum so badly but not being able to. It was driving him out of his mind.

Brad had now curled up into a ball, and Damien was standing, kneeling on the bed with one leg, furiously jacking Brad off as the boy struggled and twisted and moaned softly, "no.... no.....". Damien's own cock was almost bursting out of his tight leather jeans as he 'raped' Brad, while Brad tortured Brett.

Suddenly, and with a loud yell, Brad shot his load. His hips thrust powerfully as his spunk pumped out onto the bed and Damien's hand in hot, forceful spurts. As Damien milked his cock dry, he grinned - there was potential here, he thought: Brad would like to be tied up. Hmmmmm......."

Brad went to join the others, leaving Damien alone with Brett. Damien stood up, and squeezed his cock bulge for a while as he just looked at the helpless singer. Then he leaned over the bed, and ran a single fingertip up the boy's cock shaft to the head. The huge dick jerked in response to his touch. "Do you wanna cum, Brett?" He whispered.

Brett's voice was hoarse from all the screaming and begging he'd been doing. "Oh fuck, Damien - bring me off - PLEASE."

"OK - I'll bring you off. But I wanna move you first. Don't struggle, or I won't do it, OK?"

Brett nodded. He was past struggling.

Damien unfastened Brett's ankles, repositioned the ropes and, lifting the singer's legs and bending his knees, roped them to the top of the bed, to where his hands were fastened. This new position - with his knees over his chest and his feet in the air, allowed far more possibilities......

Damien knelt on the bed and pushed his cock bulge between Brett's cheeks, then very gently began to tickle the boy's now very vulnerable bare feet. He didn't scratch his fingernails over the soles, but used soft, light touches. At first, Brett started struggling, laughing and swearing again, but then his noises calmed down and became groans of pleasure.

Damien took his hand off Brett's right foot and used it to stroke the huge, waving cock. Up and down, up and down, around and around the cockhead his fingertips went, while he continued to tickle Brett's left foot very lightly and slowly. While he was doing this, he was gazing at the boy's face - or as much of it as was visible under the leather bandanna. Brett was running the tip of his tongue over his lips, lost in the ecstasy of being played with.

On impulse, Damien leaned forward between Brett's legs and kissed the boy. He'd been prepared for Brett to protest - but to his surprise, the singer returned the kiss - passionately. They snogged for a while, until Damien himself got to the point where he knew he just had to cum. He leant back, unfastened his leather jeans and peeled them down to his knees, his cock springing out and waving in the air. He reached over to the bedside cabinet and got a condom, opening the foil pack with his teeth and unrolling the latex over his rigid dick and then, using a handful of spit as lubrication, gently pushed it into Brett's unprotected arsehole.

Brett groaned as the boy's cock slid slowly into him, but made no effort to stop him. "Damien..." he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Take the blindfold off me, willya?"

Damien reached over and removed the leather bandanna, the smiled -

Brett was grinning like a kid. He leaned further to kiss the singer, and Brett raised his head as far as he could to meet him. They snogged, Damien's cock buried deep inside Brett.

Damien leaned back again, and wrapped his right hand firmly around Brett's cock, pulling it towards him - back between the singer's thighs. He would have loved to suck it, but there was no way he could reach in this position. Instead, he began to jack Brett off in earnest - firmly.

"Tickle me again," groaned Brett.

Damien grinned and used his left hand to work on Brett's armpits, ribs, and feet while he continued jacking the beautiful boy off, and fucking him fast.

Brett suddenly arched his back, and a fountain of spunk erupted from his cock, sending hot liquid everywhere. As he came, his sphincter muscles pulsed and contracted rhythmically - and that sent Damien over the edge. He'd been holding back, trying not to cum, but this was too much. With a shout, he lost control and shot his own load into the condom.

Their orgasms seemed to go on forever - but eventually they slowed and stopped and, as Damien slowly and gently milked the last drops of spunk from the rock singer, Brett suddenly giggled.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking - if the girls could have seen that!"

"And some of the boys...." grinned Damien.

As Damien released Brett, he was smiling to himself, and at the fun which the future may well hold. There was Brad - Damien was convinced the drummer wanted to be tied up properly and 'raped' like he'd been on the bed; there were Scott and Joey - apparently not averse to a play around (and Scott was certainly into leather); and then there was the amazingly beautiful Brett, who had just got into being tied up, tickled, and fucked.

Yes - It was very possible that life was going to get quite a lot more interesting from now on.

The End


Eddie