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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: cricket.txt (MF, 1st-oral, mast)
Authors name: Xander Dig (xanderdg@hotmail.com)
Story title : Cricket
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. Archive as you will, but let me know so
I can find good smut on your site for my own nefarious
ends.
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Cricket
by Xander Dig (xanderdg@hotmail.com)
***
Ah, the salad days of grunge. Boys and girls sang angry
songs, mosh pits were sweaty and slick and I thought
I'd grow up and become the next Eddie Vedder. It was
during these near forgotten times that a dark soul
named Cricket taught me how to go down... (MF, oral,
mast, true)
***
During the time I spent bumming around in between high
school and college, most of my energy was spent on
playing rock n roll. For much of that grungy period in
the early '90s, I was the "singer" for the band Jack
Shack. I place singer in quotes because it was really
all about screaming. I borrowed heavily from Henry
Rollins or Iggy Pop (without all that pesky talent). I
would holler about my parents, my lovers, the state of
the world. Whatever success we achieved was either due
to the musicians, or the incredibly self-destructive
show I put on out there.
Basically, over the course of our forty-five minute
set, I would go balls out for the entire time. Jumping,
head banging from the waist, rolling around on the
stage and generally trying to destroy myself as much as
possible in front of the audience. I usually ended up
sweaty and hyperventilating. And that's where our story
starts.
The mighty, mighty Jack Shack was playing at an Atlanta
bar called the Cotton Club. Far from the famed locale
in Harlem, this joint catered to an eclectic audience
seeking "real" music - which is to say middle-upper
class white kids just like the boys in the band. It was
by far the biggest room we played in those days,
fitting maybe five hundred people on a busy night.
As one of the lesser-known bands (we got the gig
through a friend-of-a-friend), we went on first. The
hall was barely a third full, but that didn't stop me
from tearing it up. I closed out last number by raking
my fingernails across my chest and abdomen hard enough
to draw blood as I screeched indecipherable lyrics.
When we were done, I headed back to the green room to
desperately seek oxygen and water.
With my band mates loading the van, I passed the next
act heading to the stage as I moved down the hall. When
I got to the green room, I found it deserted. At least,
I thought it was. The scent of incense and pot and
stale, spilled beer hung on the air, the space filled
with equipment, instruments and sprung couches. I stood
in front of the filthy full-length mirror and regarded
my chest - bright red welts cut across, speckles of
thin blood leaking thinly. "Shit," I muttered,
surprising even myself.
"That was a pretty fucking good show," said a voice
behind me. Startled, I whirled around to find Cricket
sitting on the floor with a smoldering pipe in her
hands. The Joy Grinders were one of Atlanta's biggest
local bands - kind of a trip-hop, trance outfit with a
devout following. Cricket was the lead singer, an
ethereal, delicate woman with skin so pale it was
almost translucent except for her right arm - it was
covered in an ornate tattoo like wrought iron. Like the
Everclear song says, she was perfect in a fucked up
way.
"Hey, Crick'. You scared the shit out of me," I said.
We knew each other from around. I was still breathing
hard, covered in sweat and tired. My legs were a little
wobbly as the adrenaline high of performing dissipated.
The thumping base as the band downstairs did their
sound check shook the room.
Cricket gestured to me with the pipe: want some? I
shook my head and said "I don't smoke." I'd tried pot
before, of course, but it turned me into a giggling
baboon. Cricket shrugged, took a deep toke, held it.
Let out a plume in a heavy exhale. "You're cute,
Xander," she said.
I grinned at her in a way I thought was sexy. "Really?"
"Really. C'mere," she said. Her eyes were wet, pupils
dilated. I walked shakily over, standing above her in
the dark corner. Cricket giggled, and I asked her why.
"Really cut yourself, didn't you?" she asked. She put
her dead pipe down and reached up, running her index
finger over the worst of the welts. It made me shiver.
"Cold?" she asked. She rose to her knees and licked the
slash. Then she asked, "better?" I let out a shaky
breath and smiled. "I could be warmer," I said. Cricket
smiled and snorted sarcastically. Then she licked
again, first across the cut and then down to my navel.
"Salty," she whispered in her paradoxically husky
soprano. She reached up and felt my growing erection
through the wet surface of my cutoff jeans. Rubbed it
through the rough fabric. Licked down below my belly
button to the very top of my belt, then pushed her
tongue below the waste band.
The group downstairs was playing now, and we could
faintly hear music and the crowd. She put her other
hand up the leg of my shorts, touching my naked balls.
Cricket laughed. "Commando style," she muttered. She
squeezed them softly and stroked me through the jeans.
"Jesus, Crick'," I said.
"Call me Emma," she responded. Then she looked up at me
with heavy-lidded eyes. "Me first." She pulled away
from me as I let out a frustrated groan. Smiled and
leaned back against the cracked wall, covered with
graffiti from the many bands who had been here before.
Cricket was wearing a little black dress and combat
boots, and she hiked the dress up around her thighs.
"See. Me too," she said. She didn't have on any
underwear, her bushy pubic hair blending with the
shadows.
I smiled down at her and she nodded down to her sex.
"Go down," she said flatly, and I did. I painfully got
down on my knees and crawled toward her as she beckoned
with her index finger. As I came close, I moved to kiss
her but she used the finger to push me away. She arched
her eyebrows expectantly.
"Pet the kitty," she said. I almost laughed at the
words, but managed not to at the promise of
reciprocity. Reaching down, I stared into her eyes as I
began massaging her clit - a metal stud pierced the
hood and I'd never felt anything like that before.
Instead of staring back, she closed her eyes and leaned
her head back against the wall, an almost meditative
expression on her face.
I put my other hand to work, finger fucking her
clumsily. Desperately, as only an eighteen-year-old kid
can, one finger, then two, three. I worked her clit as
well, rubbing from side to side. After a moment,
Cricket reached down with her own hand and guided mine.
Heavier pressure. Circular motions. When I got it
right, she pulled her hand away and said "okay. Okay-
okay-okay." Her breathing picked up, and I sat watching
her with wide eyes. I'd never been so attenuated to
what a woman was feeling before.
Working as she showed me, I rubbed, pistoning my
fingers in and out of her. Her breath grew raspier
before she finally began to whisper rhythmically: "Go
down. Go down. Go down." Here's the joke - I didn't
know what she meant. Finally, her eyes popped open like
a woman possessed and she pushed my head down into her
lap. Oh. I got it.
Keeping my fingers inside her, I worked her clit with
my tongue the same way I had with my fingers. She
smelled musky, and her taste was almost spicy. It made
my cock bigger and harder than it had ever been,
especially when she rewarded my efforts by moaning
softly. "Oh, oh, oh," she breathed. That was when
Craig, my bass player walked in.
"Hey, Xander, we're good to." he shouted. Then: "Oh
shit." I was shocked. Began to pull my head away to
look, to say something. To say "get the fuck out of
here, dude," maybe. But even as I pulled away, Cricket
put both hands on the back of my head and held me fast.
Oddly, that turned me on even more.
Craig didn't leave right away. It was a good ten
seconds, and the only regret I have is that I didn't
get to see whatever eye contact he and Cricket made.
Then I heard the door close behind him as he left. Even
when he was gone, Cricket kept the pressure on the back
of my head. I grinded my tongue into her, sneaking a
fourth finger into her hot pussy. "Okay, okay, okay,"
she whispered again. Then her breath hitched in her
throat, and she squeezed her legs tight around my head.
I felt her cunt clench tight around my fingers. Relax
and tighten again spasmodically. She made a high, reedy
noise - not quite a moan. Not like anything I've ever
heard before or since. She held me there for a moment,
then relaxed. I kept, licking, plunging my fingers and
she laughed. "Stopstopstop," she giggled.
Keeping her palms on the side of my head, she pulled me
up in front of her. Looked into my face with a smile. I
could feel how wet my face was, and I thought she was
going to kiss me. Instead she said, "that was nice."
"Thanks?" I said, but it was really more of a question.
She nodded, then reached forward and unbuttoned my fly.
My cock leapt up comically and she smiled at it.
Reached down and began pulling. "Cricket," I moaned.
"Emma," she corrected. I'd never heard her name as Emma
before that night, and never would again. She reached
down to her pussy with her other hand and touched
herself for a moment, lubricating her fingers with her
own wetness. The she changed hands and I gasped - it
was so hot.
She stroked me faster, then switched hands again - wet
again. It was as though I'd been inside her. Just as my
breathing grew labored and I felt I was about to come,
she took my own hand and wrapped it around my cock.
Placing her's on top of my own, she began to stroke.
Then she took her hand away and leaned back.
"Show me," she whispered. I'd never masturbated in
front of a woman before, and became very self-
conscious. Cricket must have caught the look, because
she reached down absently and began to touch herself.
Even then, I thought it was probably less for herself
than for me.
Still, it got me going again. I stroked myself from
head to base quickly. I usually jerked off dry, and the
lubrication Cricket-nee-Emma provided worked well. Eyes
wide, I began to pant and she smiled, moving closer
again.
I felt the orgasm staring when she rose to her knees
and stared into my face. "Come on, baby. Come on,
Xander," she whispered. "Show me." I moaned loudly and
did. A jet of come launched out, splattering against
her dress, then another and another. I groaned again.
Cricket never took her eyes off my face.
"Shhh, shhh," she cooed. "That's it. That's it, baby."
When the orgasm finally began to fade, she leaned close
to me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. She didn't
say anything, only smiled. She laid back against the
wall again and reached for her pipe as my cock began to
dwindle. Cricket made no move to wipe the come from the
front of her dress.
This was so far outside my realm of experience; I had
no idea what to say. I buttoned up my shorts and said
"thanks." Then began gather my things as she smoked her
weed. On the way out the door, I asked for her number.
Cricket only laughed.
"I don't have a phone," she said.
END
Feedback? XanderDG@hotmail.com
Archive as you will, but let me know so I can find good
smut on your site for my own nefarious ends.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 26