Chapter 3
The unveiling took place three weeks later in a small rock club on the upper West Side.
It was a private party for people in the industry. Important people. The kind who could buy and sell an act, the kind who could make or break Denise.
By the end of the first set most of them wanted to make her. She was dressed in a leather halter that crisscrossed her tits, covering the top of them, but leaving the wide round bottoms exposed.
The leather straps wrapped around her neck like a collar. She had a jet-black micro skirt that flashed her flesh-toned panties with every move of her body.
Her hair was teased, fluffy and brilliant silver, making her look just like a doll, an expensive doll that everyone in the audience wanted to play with.
Lenny had groomed her inch by inch, leer by leer, until she was the spitting image of all the other dark-eyed sirens strutting their ass in front of a rock band. Singing and swinging and most of all, promising... promising a thrill that the audience wouldn't ever forget.
Now she was giving it to them.
She writhed across the stage, pumping the mike in her hand, shaking her ass, shaking her tits, letting her jiggling flesh bathe under the brilliant lights that followed her hip-twitching strut.
She had the audience in her palm. Her squeezing palm. As she sang she whipped her hand up and down an imaginary cock, bringing the hard ghostlike prick to orgasm, shaking it, shaking it toward her face, opening her mouth to suck up the juice, to scream and sing with ecstasy.
Out there in the darkness she saw nothing but shadowy and still forms. Instead of moving to the music, they sat at their table, tossing down their drinks, lighting their cigarettes and their joints.
It was a closed party.
Anything goes at a closed party, Lenny had told her. Anything. You just make sure you go with it, he added. And by now she knew what he meant.
He was an excellent coach. A demanding prick who coached her in every flesh move she could make.
The dyed platinum chick on stage gave everyone what they came for. A show that got them involved, that got them hungry for more.
Denise put the hard in hard rock.
She sang old classic torch songs, but with a difference. The beat was meaner and harder and the lyrics were always changed .. . "Lust for Sale."
Instead of blues she moaned the black-and-blue stuff, vamping it up, a leather lover's delight.
The night passed in a blur of drinks and drugs, set to set, and always there were the asides, the hurried conversations when some club owner whispered to her and pulled her away from the crowd during a backstage break. She couldn't keep track of how many times her ass was grabbed, how many times she was promised a place to showcase her act.
As long as she was willing to showcase her ass in a private meeting with the owner, she could get a job.
Maybe it wasn't like that with other girls getting into the business, but it was the only way for a girl connected to Mark's agency.
Hot Licks, Inc. followed a tried and true method when it came to building up an act.
Give the audience what they want, but first give the club owners what they want. And now, Denise was launching that first attack.
Ten minutes before the last set of the night she let a guy in a black suit get some tit off her in a corner of the dressing room. He stayed after all the others were cleared out of the room.
First his arm went around her shoulders as he told her how much he liked her act. Then his hand dropped down to her side. "You know what else I like about you?" he said.
Denise smiled a fake sweet smile. "No, but I bet you're gonna tell me. Aren't you?"
His hand cupped the bottom of her right tit, lifting it up and down in his kneading fingers. "Yeah," he said. "I like these!" He swooped his other hand around and grasped her left tit. Both hands pushed up on her jugs, slipping under the leather straps until his fingers pressed down onto her nipples.
She stood perfectly still even as he rubbed himself against the back of her short skirt. Denise was willing to put up with anything that came her way, even a cheap feel like this.
"What do you say?" he asked, digging into her large fleshy mounds.
"Mmmmmn," she said. She pushed back against him this time, bouncing her hips up and down, inching herself onto his hardening prick.
The man was about thirty and already he was into his successful hotshot businessman act. Young and always looking for the next place to score.
Denise knew she was that place.
She really knew it when he handed her a business card, naming his nightclub and his personal number. "I wish we could get together tonight, honey. But I got business. You come around on Wednesday night, say about seven, before it gets busy, and, uh ... " He gave her tits another squeeze and headed toward the door.
". . .Then we'll get into this a lot further."
She took the card and dropped it into her purse by the make-up mirror.
At the same time she caught a quick glance of herself in the mirror. Her face was painted, gaudy with bright-red cheeks, her eyes sultry and wicked with black mascara ... long lashes ... thin brows ... and the lips were that lustrous white color again. The color of semen, gleaming glowing white that looked wet. Her smile was the smile of a woman used to supping on cock.
Fuck it, she thought. There was no choice, no other way. She had to play the game. She made it this far and she was going to make it all the way.
She leaned forward and leered at herself. Her big tits dropped down as her arms pushed them together. The milky globes strained at the leather straps.
"Hey!"
The shout took her by surprise and brought her out of the reverie. It was Lenny. He walked up behind her and slapped her on the ass, giving her cheeks a quick feel. "What are you doing? Falling in love with yourself in that mirror?"
"Maybe," she said, in a "fuck you" tone of voice.
"Well, you want them to fall in love with you, honey. Them!" He pointed out toward the stage, toward the audience. "They're the ones who count."
"What am I supposed to do? Fuck everybody in the place?" Denise practically shouted at him. "One at a time, honey, one at a time ... and believe me, before your career takes off, you probably will fuck everybody in the place." His hand slid down her ass, then down farther until his fingers parted her legs. He rubbed her cunt, idly, bored, twitching at her juiced panties with his thumb and forefinger.
Denise stood there and took it. But she shuddered at the - same time. She shuddered from the casual manner in which he invaded her body.
"Put some more of this into the act, honey. We've got them, but any bitch can do what you do, flash some tit, sing some suck songs. You wanna catch them now, you wanna make them remember you! Know what I mean?"
Denise rocked her hips back and forth. She was turned on by his sliding fingers, by the thought of that crowd out there all waiting for her to come out again, to come out and entertain them with her body.
"You wanna fuck me?" she said, giving in to the constant rubbing, the cold cunt-tickling fingers.
"No. Them, baby," Lenny said. "Haul your ass out there and do it to them."
"Mmmmmn," she moaned, agreeing with him, but wanting to get a bit more of a feel, wanting those fingers of the promo man to stroke her up a few more rungs on the ladder to orgasm, a ladder he was making her climb.
"You ready to do it?" he said.
Denise nodded. She reached behind her and cupped his cock, giving it a squeeze through the dark pants. Then she slid her hand lower and grabbed at his nuts. "Sure you don't want to stick it in me before I go out there?"
"Nah," he said. "You forget, Denise, I can have you anytime I want you. Not just when you're in the mood."
She took her hand away from him as if he had just slapped her in the face.
But his hand stayed where it was, between her legs, under her skirt, moving and prodding, turning her on, fingering her juicy cunt through her panties.
"There's been a bit of a change when you go back out there," he said. "The unofficial word is that they like you but you need something extra ... so the band is keyed into a little stunt I wanna pull. You just go along with them, okay, baby? And I mean go along, with anything!"
"Okay," Denise said. "You know I'll do it, no matter what it is. You've proved that already, you bastard. Fuck, how many times have I sucked you off! How many times have I sucked off some other guy just 'cause you thought it would do me some good!"
"Not enough, baby," he said. "It's never enough. Not until you call the shots, honey. Not until you can call the shots. Then you'll know you've paid your dues."
Denise stepped away from the make-up mirror, away from his hand between her legs.
Lenny grabbed her by the chin. "You remember that, bitch! Now go out there and do what I want you to do. Go out there and shake your fucking ass off! And when the time comes, you just do what the band wants you to. Got it?"
Denise nodded. She pushed the bright silvery bangs out of her face. Bright platinum hair, she thought. Fake, just like the rest of her. Fake talent. Fake act. Fake everything except the one thing that mattered. Slut, she thought. That part about her act wasn't fake.
Not anymore.
Denise went back out on stage. She sang a couple of songs before she found out just what Lenny had planned for her and for the audience.
All of a sudden the band changed the beat during a slow blues number she was singing.
Boom.
Everyone stopped playing except the drummer.
Boom ... the sticks chattered across the snare in a slow build-up to a stripper tune.
The audience of night-club owners all started applauding. Screaming. Screaming for her. Screaming for the hot chick in the leather outfit to start stripping.
She stopped. She stared. She gripped the microphone hard until her knuckles were white.
"Do it, honey, do it!" someone in the front shouted. It spread from table to table. The band picked up the beat. The long wailing saxophone. The steady snap of the snare drums and the hard thump of the bass propelled the band along, spitting out a demanding wall of sound.
"Do it, baby, do it, show your stuff, BJ, do it!"
That was Lenny, shouting out loud, Lenny who gave her the stage name BJ. The backup band was called the Extortions, a group of studio musicians who played anything at all, as long as the money was right.
BJ and the Extortions.
The name was thought up by Lenny after a late-night session with Denise. He wanted some- thing that sounded New Wave, something that promised sex and thrills in the act.
And now here she was, in the flesh almost, while the Extortions cooked out a slinky strip number.
Denise stood there, turning a deep red. She looked out at the sea of faces staring back at her. All of them seemed like sharks now, cold sharks' faces that wanted to see her ass, her tits, who didn't give a damn about the music. It was all a business to this crowd. Business and pleasure. Denise, as BJ, had to supply both.
"Come on, you dumb bitch," the guitarist said, stepping behind her. "Do it, go with the act."
She stepped away from him.
He prodded her ass with the guitar.
The crowd loved it.
The neck of the guitar whipped against Denise's backside, slapping at her ass just beneath the short skirt. "Strip, will you, dammit, this can make us big, you jerk!"
Denise stared at the guitarist. His name was Jimmy and up until now she thought he was nice, relatively nice. But now on stage, he was all ice. It was in his dark eyes, hidden partially by his long stringy black hair. This was his chance to make it, to break out of the studio musician scene, to make it as an act.
She was the ticket.
She was the key.
And she was also the obstacle as she stood there dumbly, terrified of what was going to happen.
"It's only a gig, now don't blow it. Don't you blow it!" Jimmy hissed at her above the music. "Come on, or I'll do it for you. Strip. Strip!"
The lights glared down upon her, illuminating her body, wet and sleek from the fright that gripped her. It was one thing to act like a whore for a man in private ... it was quite another to expose herself in front of a crowd.
Then it was decided for her.
A strong hand gripped her shoulders and clamped down hard into her skin.
The guitarist forced her down on her knees, pushing, shoving her down in the middle of the stage. She still gripped the microphone in her hand, uselessly clutching it as if it was still part of the act.
The crowd went wild, shouting and clapping, thinking this was all worked out ahead of time. But it wasn't rehearsed at all.
Denise was scared but she had to go through with it. She had to let it happen to her. Just like Lenny told her to. Just like she was trained.
The guitarist lifted up on the leather harness while the rest of the band played strip music. Then he yanked hard, pulling the black crisscross straps off her.
Denise's bare tits were freed, exposed, jiggling and swaying in front of a hundred hungry eyes. She tried to cover herself at first but that just made them all the more hungry, leering at her, watching her struggle with her nudity as the guitarist stood menacingly in front of her.
He batted her arm away.
Half naked, her short skirt hiked up to her hips, Denise crawled across the floor.
It was an act, a hard act, but it would really get the audience going. She knew that Lenny had spoken to the band sometime earlier and worked this out with them.
Worked out the S&M bit that she was a part of.
Denise rolled on the stage, spinning over and over, letting her big tits flop and shake and jiggle, letting her skirt fly high over her thighs, high over her ass so the audience could see everything they wanted.
BJ and the Extortions.
Live, on stage, acting out the fantasies that all the men wanted to see.
Jimmy stood in front of her now. The bass player stood behind her, barring any escape.
She clung to his leg, letting her tits stick way out, stretching like a cat on stage, pulling up on his leg. Dimly she could hear the laughter in the audience. Nervous laughter, a release caused by what she was doing. There would be another release soon.
A sexual one.
She'd been teasing the crowd all night, and she'd been teased the same way by Lenny in her dressing room, by that nightclub owner, and now, by herself, by herself on stage. And even though it was partially nothing but play-acting, at the same time it was real. In front of everybody.
In front of the whole sick crew in the rock club. Watching and waiting for the climax to the show.
It wasn't a concert. It was a peep show. Half-naked, big-titted Denise, posing as some platinum-haired star named BJ, getting mistreated by the Extortions.
"Ohhhhh," she groaned, loud enough to be picked up by the microphone now lying on the floor. "Ohhhhh, please, please, don't. . .Ohhhhhhhh." The guitarist smiled.
He reached down and grabbed Denise by the hair, tilting her face up. It was just hard enough to do the job, not hard enough to hurt her ... if she went along with the act. She let him pull on her hair until she was up to her knees. Her head was level with his crotch.
His hand suddenly moved down to the back of her head and pulled her close, shoving her face right against his hard prick as it strained against his pants.
There was a collective groan in the crowd, a shudder of shock and joy at the same time, pleased at how far the act was going.
Then the bass player crept up behind her. The band picked up the beat, louder and louder, playing strip music, hard-edged strip music.
Her skirt was lifted up, up over her ass. She was pushed down on all fours now with one man in front, one man in back.
She felt the bass player press against her from the back, crouching down to rub up to her exposed ass. The man in front of her had her head imprisoned with both hands and he pulled at her head.
Denise followed along with it, bobbing her head up and down, back and forth, mimicking the act of sucking off a stiff prick in her mouth.
And it wasn't all that far from what was happening. Jimmy's stiff dick was pushing at her mouth and she could feel the length of it rubbing against her lips. But it was safe ... so far. So far they weren't carrying the act to the extreme, making her perform all the way.
They turned her all of a sudden, away from the audience. Jimmy's lean frame hid her from sight. He spread his legs wide, though, and she knew the people in the front tables could see her bare tits jiggling and swaying.
But they couldn't see her mouth.
And they couldn't see the guitarist's prick sticking out of the top of his pants. He had managed to unzip himself in a quick stroke.
Now the throbbing head of his cock was out in the open. Glistening at the tip, leaking clear drops of cock juice all primed for her mouth.
"Do it," he said. "Go ahead and do it!"
Denise looked up at him. He was serious. He was so caught up in the act, so caught up in stripping her that it was no longer just an act.
He wanted her.
He wanted to fuck her mouth right on stage.
"I can't!" Denise shouted. "Are you crazy? They'll see me."
"They can't see it from here. Go ahead, they'll just think you're faking it." He slipped his hand down to his pants and pulled the front wide open. His zipper sank all the way down and his cock popped out in front of her face. It was long and rigid, long and wet, bobbing at an angle just right for her mouth, just right to grab and suck and swallow.
"I can't ... " Denise said. "They'll know what's going on, they will. .. No, I can't. . ."
Right at that moment, as she hesitated, another member of the band came to the center of the stage. There was a camera in his hand. He was trying not to laugh as he carried out his part of the charade.
He snapped a picture of her kneeling there with her tits sticking out, with her mouth half open in shock, half open in hunger.
She was inches away from the hard cock aimed at her lips. It tilted slightly, up and down, but always on target, always ready to slip into her white glossy lips, always ready to add more cream to her mouth.
There was another bright flash, pinning her in the light, pinning her as she stared at the camera with a dazed look on her face.
The Extortions, Denise thought. This was the gimmick. Catching her in the act. Snapping photos of her with a hard dick in front of her face.
BJ and the Extortions. It would work. Deep inside she knew the gimmick would work.
But now, right now it wasn't a gimmick. Even as the rest of the band played on, Denise was pushed from behind. The bass player stepped closer and closer, forcing her to inch forward on her knees.
And then there was a cock at her face. Straight up, wet, sticky, riding up and down on her lips. And above her stood Jimmy, his eyes glazed, staring down at her, rocking his hips back and forth.
He was fucking her mouth, center stage. And the other man was behind her, shoving her, holding her in place from the back while the third man clicked picture after picture.
Her lips opened.
Cock fucked her mouth.
It stuck inside her and battered at the roof of her mouth, then pushed inward. The hard curving meat jumped onto her tongue.
Hands pushed down on her head. Fingers entwined themselves in her brilliant silver hair, manipulating her so that she had to follow the direction of the gripping hands. Up and down. Up and down.
Hard meat rammed her wet lips, slipping inside. She sucked. She sucked so he would come and it would be over with. She licked and drooled and swallowed cock, taking it all the way down her throat.
Her bare tits jiggled and swayed and jumped while she sucked and sucked and took all the prick he could give her.
"Uhhhh, uhhhh, do it, baby, do it, suck on that fucking cock ... Ohhhh, ohhh yeah, it's fucking great. Uhhh, uhhh, it's so fucking good to stick it in your mouth!" He rocked his hips back and forth.
She pictured how it must have looked to the audience. The legs bucking up and down. The hands clutching at her. The cock going in and out, the hard arrow of quivering flesh stabbing at her.
The audience couldn't tell for sure if it was simulated or if it was really happening.
They were moving closer to the stage, talking, laughing, inching forward to see what was going oh. The noise level rose as the act commenced.
Above the music there was a general stirring, an excited murmur that swept the crowd.
And on stage Denise knew just how real it was. Her lips smacked a mile a minute on the cock fucking her face. Her cheeks bulged every few seconds as she took all of his prick inside of her and sucked on it.
And then her lips formed that sliding O as his prick made the journey out of her mouth, back, back all the way so she could nibble on the throbbing end of his drippy stick.
"She's doing it! She's really doing it!" The cry came from the audience. Someone from the front table was shouting, spreading the word. "She's sucking him off, she's actually sucking him off!"
There seemed to be nothing else but the sound of hard wet dick smacking into her lips. Louder and louder. And then she realized one of the guys in the band was holding a mike close to her.
Her lips, sucking and drooling on Jimmy's lip-splitting dick, were being piped into the sound system, louder and louder, providing a juicy soundtrack to the rest of the strip music.
"Ohhhh, ohhhhh, suck, SUCK!" Jimmy shouted.
Just then he blasted off into her mouth. A hot wad of cream flew over her tongue in a thick gob. It streamed down her throat in a steady spurt, gushing, gushing, splattering the insides of her mouth, driving all the way down inside.
Denise tilted her head down, resting both hands on his thighs, taking his cum into her mouth. Sucking it, swallowing it as it flowed into her.
He bucked and rammed against her, and emptied his prick. Then he was done.
He was through fucking her face. He pulled out his wet sticky cock and then tucked it back into his pants. That's when he stepped away from her.
That's when she was naked on stage in front of all those mocking, hungry eyes.
With cum dripping down her chin.
With her face flushed from all that sucking. With her hand sliding across her chin, over her lips to wipe off all the cream.
It was dribbling down onto her tits, the thick load of cum. She noticed it now, she noticed how covered, how stained she was with all that semen.
On her tits. On her big fucking bare tits. She rubbed her milky jugs until the filmy liquid had smeared all over them ... and then the crowd went wild, then the crowd went nuts, screaming and yelling for her.
She made it.
The act was a success.
Denise was a hit with them all. A big fucking hit, and she knew how they were all going to come for her after seeing her like this . .. and she knew how they were all going to get her. All the nightclub operators, all the plain old operators who wanted a piece of the action.
Her action.
Her sucking action.
The lights went out then and the stage was bathed in soothing darkness. She wasn't aware of anything except that last image of the crowd staring at her, transfixed with awe and desire.
And then she was being helped off the stage. Picking up her halter was the guitarist, who flung it over his shoulder and then walked behind her, herding her with the other members of the band.
She was their ticket.
Every one of them knew it, every one of them was sold on her now. If ... If she followed through. If she delivered the goods.
If she did what was needed, playing the crowd for suckers, sucking the crowd, sucking everybody, then they would all make it to the top.
They were, all in the dressing room now, screaming and shouting and laughing. Wine bottles, beer bottles, and the sweet smell of smoke passed through the room.
And through her.
"We did it, we fucking did it," Jimmy said. "We got it made, baby. We got it fucking made!"
He was holding her tight, then he was picking her up, and then she was whirled around the room by one after the other.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Wild-eyed in the beginning of the celebration. Then dreamy-eyed. Then, hungry-eyed.
All that excitement of being on stage, baring herself in front of so many people, exposing her tits, and more, exposing her mouth, her mouth sucking on cock, swallowing up cum ... it got to her. She needed release.
She was on fire, she was ready to go, and then she saw how the band was ready to go, ready to welcome her aboard at last.
She was on the dressing table. Propped up on the desk with her legs hanging over.
Her skirt was up to her waist.
Her panties were down on her ankles.
The bass player was in front of her, guiding his round cock into her cunt, running it along her thighs, squeezing out a few drops of clear liquid. Then it was in her.
"Uhhhh," she said. "I want it, I fucking want it. I want it all!" She lurched backward, taking his cock, gasping as the hard throbbing meat filled her.
And then she leaned back against the make-up mirror. She was caught up in a boozy, druggie ride, everything seemed so right, so fucking, sucking right.
Even the way the band members were lining up, ready to get their fill.
Actually, she thought, they were ready to get her filled. Ready to juice her up with cum. But she was ready for them, too, for anyone, and anything.
She lifted her ass up and down, piling herself onto hard ramming cock. It felt so good as it eased into her slit, running in and out of her hairy cunt.
Wetness seeped out of her. It was her own juice, thick and pouring. Hot, hot and wet, hot and sticky. She was hot all over and there was only one kind of liquid that could put out the flame inside her.
Cum.
Buckets of white hot shining gleaming cum. She purred. She purred and cooed and gasped and then she groaned. She was coming.
Coming all over the bass player's cock. All over his spitting prick. With each thud of cream against her pussy wall, each splash of jetting semen, Denise grunted. She grunted like an animal yielding to her passion, giving in.
Gratification.
Satisfaction.
Pleasure, a reward for all she'd gone through, all she was going to face from here on in. Now, in her drugged mind, in her liquor-kissed brain, she was doing what was right, she was doing what came naturally.
She was getting her brains fucked out in the dressing room of a sleazy nightclub.
She was getting fucked over and over, one after the other. The guys in the band, strangers to her all along, were now doing it to her.
Fucking her cunt, fucking her mouth, fucking her everywhere they could put it, everywhere she could take it. Denise spent herself in orgasm so many times that she couldn't keep track.
Denise was down on the floor, kneeling between hairy legs, stuffing her lips with cock. She was on all fours, taking cock from in back.
She was covered with sticky cream.
She was getting just what she wanted and just what she needed. She was getting the only kind of love available. It was hard and it was fast.
And ... it was good.
It was all good.
She sucked them off, she jerked them off, she fucked them until they couldn't move anymore.
And then it was late, it was the middle of the night. It was over.
For now.
But it was just beginning.
The long climb to the top. The slide, actually, she thought, the sticky slide to the top.
Denise was the head-liner, the head giver. She was the star attraction of BJ and the Extortions, the band that blew you away.
Just like Lenny, her image shaper, her flesh peddler, said. He would make sure that she blew everybody away.