("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
The Concert
by Frank (address withheld)
***
A guy gets a little action during a rock concert. (MF,
public)
***
I'm in the standing-room-only crowd on the floor at the
Jethro Tull concert in Frankfurt, West Germany, April
27, 1982. The crowd is constantly shifting; a single
organism trying to make itself comfortable on the
concrete floor of the arena. The air is thick with the
smells of beer, wine, and smoke (cigars, cigarettes,
pipe tobacco, and hash). Voices of the hawkers can be
made out above the noise of the crowd advertising (in
German and English) their wine, beer, posters, and T-
shirts. Canned music is piped in over speakers in the
rafters.
The roadies are playing games with the crowd while
doing the sound system checks. Frisbees and funny
little glowing things fly at random through the air.
I'm standing at the center of the stage, about 30 feet
back into the crowd. After the concert my ears will be
ringing for three days. I can live with that...
The lights begin to dim and the crowd settles down as
the drummer for the warm-up band sets the beat on his
high-hat. The curtains open, the spots blaze to life,
and the crowd goes nuts as the warm-up band hits the
stage with a hard-driving rhythm and screaming guitars.
I've never heard (or heard of) the band before.
Probably a local hired to warm up the crowd for Tull.
They're good at it - warming the crowd up, that is -
but I don't think they'll make it on their own.
The crowd is getting into it. The energy that bands
live on - in their symbiotic way - starts flowing.
People are pumping their fists into the air - the air
which is rapidly getting thicker with the smell of
hashish as the pipes are passed around. The folks are
getting fired up!
Surveying the people around me, my eyes come to a
screeching halt on a small cluster of young ladies who
are definitely getting into the rhythm of the thing.
They're dancing and screaming and bouncing around as if
it were the last night of their lives.
One of the gals - a sweet young lady with waist-length
chestnut tresses, in a yellow knit mini-dress - is also
surveying the crowd. Our eyes meet. Hers are the gray
of early-morning fog on the Rhine. I smile. She returns
a knowing half-smile that sends a shiver up my spine,
before turning back to the band on stage.
The warm-up band finishes its sixth set with a flourish
and runs off stage. The spots die and are replaced by
the house lights as the curtains are closed for the
intermission. The canned music begins to play.
Once again, the crowd shifts as parts head for the
restrooms to unburden themselves of the beer, wine, and
soda consumed before (and during) the warm-up act. More
beverages are bought, along with albums, posters, T-
shirts, and popcorn. Only the most brazen are firing up
their bowls with the house lights up.
I look around for the clump of young women I noted
earlier, but they have faded into the mob. Probably in
line for the restroom, think I, as I turn back to the
stage.
The roadies can be heard moving equipment around on the
stage. An occasional glimpse of a roadie with a guitar
or an amp can be seen through the small gap in the
curtain.
We wait for about half an hour as the stage is reset
for Jethro Tull. The tension of anticipation is like a
physical thing filling the arena; I feel as if I could
float on it.
Then the house lights dim, and the tension boils away
in the roar of the crowd.
The arena is black as pitch, and the crowd has settled
into its final configuration, when the first notes of
the piano intro to "Locomotive Breath" push their way
through the crowd noise. A few of us recognize the song
from the first few notes and cry out in joy and
appreciation. Others don't realize what they are
listening to until the first whining guitar riffs have
faded into reverberating feedback.
Then the stage is ablaze with light as the lead guitar
is banging out the opening bar of the song proper. Ian
Anderson is dancing around the stage, twirling his
silver flute as if it were a baton. The drums and bass
are hammering out the beat as the rhythm guitar is
doing that rhythm thing.
The crowd has sprouted a forest of pumping arms and the
amplified sounds of the band are nearly drowned out by
its triumphant bellow.
And even as Ian sidles up to the microphone to sing "In
the shuffling madness/Of locomotive breath," I look
down to see a head of chestnut hair bouncing and
bobbing before me. The young lady with the misty-gray
eyes looks over her shoulder at me. Her crazy half-
smile laughs at me when she turns back to the stage.
Sorry, Ian, I think as my eyes drop to watch the sway
of her hips and the play of her ass under the thin
fabric of her yellow mini-dress. I'm delighted to
notice that - by the way the clingy fabric gathers in
the cleft of her ass - either she's not wearing any
panties, or she's wearing a G-string. Fine by me! And,
believe me, "fine" is the active word here!
I feel my cock coming to life, its girth and length
growing rapidly. By the end of the song, I'm throbbing
to my own beat! The crowd goes wild as the song crashes
to its end.
"Guten abend, Frankfurt!" cries Ian to a crowd which
proves that is CAN get louder! "That's the extent of my
German," he adds. Laughter. "The next song we'd like to
play for you is something off our new album..."
Dramatic pause. "...A little something called
'Beastie.'"
The spotlights die, leaving the arena in darkness
again. I feel the gal in the mini-dress back slowly
into me. And with the first synthesized strains of
"Beastie," my throbbing member thrills to the sensation
of slow shift of her firm ass through the thick denim
of my jeans.
Does this woman know what she's DOING to me? I ask
myself.As if in answer, I feel her hands reach behind
her to grab my hips. She then pulls me tightly against
her and moves her sweet ass in a slow, grinding roll
against my crotch.
Any other stupid fucking questions?
As I slide my hands around her waist, she turns in my
arms. The spotlights come up on stage as she loops her
arms around my neck and drags my face down to hers. My
lips find her mouth open. Her tongue like a hot, wet,
fleshy spear drives into my mouth before my mind has
time to catch up! Her firm, toned body melts against me
as our tongues start to dance.
Though my eyes are probably wide with surprise, the
vision centers of my brain are closed for business. The
other sensations easily override any sights my eyes are
trying to bring me. The warm, sweet smell of her. The
sound of my moan drowning out her smaller one. The hot,
wet, clean taste of her mouth grinding hungrily against
mine. I feel her hardened nipples pressing through her
dress and my T-shirt into my chest. The feel of her
smooth belly pressing firmly against my crotch. The
play of her back muscles beneath my fingers.
Who the hell needs eyes?!
When our lips part, vision comes flooding back. Her
face is only a couple inches away from mine, and she is
smiling that damned smile again! I start to say
something, but she kisses me quickly again to shut me
up. (Hey! I'm dense, but I'm not THAT dense!)
Smiling, she turns her back to me, once again, to
applaud the end of the song.
Ian smiled, "I hope everyone's having a good time."
Yeah, buddy!
"Our next tune," he goes on, "is something else off our
latest record. It's an odd little ditty called
'Watching'!" The synthesizer starts turning out a
bewildering combination of notes. The drummer soon
picks up an odd, jerky beat which neatly compliments
the synth. It was a tune to which I had thought it was
impossible to dance. My lovely, chestnut-haired lady
seemed only too happy to prove me wrong.
As her hips start moving in time with the drums, she
takes my hands from their resting place at her waist
and slides them up her wonderfully smooth torso to the
mounds of her breasts. She then reaches one hand over
my head, grabs a handful of my hair, and pulls my face
into the curve of her neck. Her other hand is caressing
the back of one of mine as I stroke her breasts with my
palms, brushing her nipples with the balls of my
fingers.
My mouth works its way - kissing, licking, nibbling -
gradually from the outside of her shoulder, up her neck
to her ear. As my hands are lifting and kneading her
tits, my tongue is darting into her ear. She continues
to press her lovely ass into my cock as I, pausing for
a bit to nibble on the lobe of her ear, work my way
down to where her shoulder meets her neck.
All the while I've been enjoying the taste and feel of
her neck and breasts (respectively), I've been paying
careful attention to the song. When the song comes to
its sudden end, I pinch her nipples and bite her neck -
not TOO hard, mind you, but hard enough for her to know
I'm still here!
Her gasp perfectly coincides with the last beat of the
song.
She whirls around and stares at me with a look of mock-
indignation. Her misty gray eyes sparkle mischievously
and her half-smile replaces the pettish pout. Slipping
her arms around my neck, she lifts herself off the
floor and presses her lips roughly against mine. The
brunette's pelvis grinds against mine as our tongues
slip and slide upon each other. Her breathing has
become quite rapid - my own is none to steady!
Suddenly, the young lady drops to her feet and twists
around in my arms, once again facing the stage.
Ian is gazing out at the audience. He starts to
introduce the band - drummer, bass, new lead guitar,
etc. - all the while twirling his flute like a baton.
My companion, while looking up at the stage, is
reaching around to the front of my jeans. With deft
movements she unbuttons the top and pulls the zipper
open. My engorged prick fairly leaps into her waiting
hand. She feels the heft of my eight-inch cock,
wrapping her slim fingers around, measuring its girth.
Introductions over, Ian says, "This is the title cut
off our latest album." The crowd goes nuts. I can
barely hear him as he says, "Broadsword!" The stage
lights die.
The young lady with my dick in her hand uses her free
hand to guide one of mine to her left breast. She then
pushes my other hand down, down past the hem of her T-
shirt dress to the warm, silky smoothness of her inner
thigh.
From onstage a slow, rhythmic beat - reminiscent of
movie-style Indian tom-toms - begins. Soon, it is
joined by the moaning of a guitar. Anderson sings: "I
see a dark sail/On the horizon..."
The brunette's hand has moved to the head of my cock,
feeling the mushroom shape, spreading the bead of my
own moisture around. Her hand slides back to cup my
balls and give a gentle squeeze. My face is buried in
her neck. I moan softly as she begins slowly stroking
me.
My hand is kneading the inside of her thigh as it moves
lingeringly toward the meeting of her legs. My loving
companion widens her stance to allow me easier access.
I feel the heat of her pussy against the back of my
thumb. My other hand continues to caress her left
breast - stroking, rubbing, rolling the nipple like a
marble...
I'm a little startled when the back of my thumb slides
across her hot, wet, *clean shaven* cunt. I let my
surprise show somehow, as my gray-eyed lover giggles
and gives my prick a couple of quick squeezes.
Thus encouraged, I hike the hem of her mini-dress a bit
and begin to slide my fingers across her slippery cunt.
The hot wetness of her flows over my questing fingers.
I hear her moan gently as against my ear as the middle
finger slips between her labia. She readjusts her
stance. My middle finger finds the opening of her
vagina; my thumb, the button of her clit.
I hear air sucking through her teeth. She releases my
cock, bringing both of her hands around to press mine
more firmly against her pussy.
I pull her back into me. My dick slides up under the
hem of her dress. For a moment, it's 50-50 as to
whether my prick will slide down and forward between
her legs, or back and up against her ass. The moment
passes and the latter wins out. I feel my cock slip
along the cleft of her ass as the middle finger of my
right hand slides up to the second knuckle into her
slippery vagina.
The lovely young woman grips my finger with her vaginal
muscles while she wiggles her ass. Soon, my prick is
firmly entrenched between the lovely, round lobes of
her ass. It is quite happy to be there. Her head falls
back onto my right shoulder; mouth open, eyes closed.
I begin to slide my finger in and out of her wet
snatch, my thumb rubbing her joy-button, the fingers of
my left hand rolling and pinching her nipple. I nibble
her earlobe and watch her lick her lips.
She begins to thrust her pelvis, in time with my
probing finger. Her thrusts are doing wonderful things
to my cock, wedged as it is between her buttocks. She
moans and turns her face to bring her mouth to mine. We
kiss as hungrily as we can at this awkward angle.
Jethro Tull has jarringly blended the end of
"Broadsword" with the beginning of "Aqualung." "Sitting
on a park bench /Eyeing little girls with bad
intent..." sings Ian as he dances across the stage.
I feel a shudder run through my companion. The kiss is
released and she draws air sharply between her teeth.
She, again, moves her luscious buttocks, releasing my
ridged member. She pulls my hand away from her crotch
and turns in my arms to face me. She then kisses me
thoroughly, pushing down on my shoulders until I'm
kneeling. Widening her legs again, she grabs a double
handful of my hair and pulls my face into her dripping
crotch.
Without hesitation, I begin lapping at her cunt. Using
my thumbs to spread her labia, I bury my face in her
wet, hairless pussy. The hot, musky sweetness of her
rolls across my tongue as my mustache brushes her
clitoris.
"Jesus Fuckin' Christ," I'm thinking. "I'm on my knees,
eating this lovely wench right here in the middle of a
huge concert crowd!" Then thoughts are wiped from my
mind as I concentrate on trying to make the woman
scream!
I can't see her face because of the poor lighting and
the fabric of the T-shirt dress piled up in front of my
eyes, but my companion's fingers are clenching the hair
at the back of my head; grinding my face in her cunt. I
can feel her breathing. I can feel her knee against my
ribs quaking.
Presently, I focus my attention on her clit. I begin
planting tiny, sucking kisses upon her joy-button. Her
fingers stop pulling at my hair, but she holds my head,
as if she can't decide to pull me in or push me away.
Shortly, I feel quivers race through her legs with each
kiss I plant.
I slip my right hand between her thighs in such a way
that I can insert my thumb in her pussy and press my
middle finger against the rosebud of her anus. My thumb
slides all the way into her lust-slick love tunnel, and
I begin to wiggle the tip in time with the music.
Now, the girl's fingers begin to claw at the back of my
head. Her nails slowly dig into my flesh, as she starts
to shudder uncontrollably. I feel her breath coming in
gasps. Her knees are shaking so that I fear that she
might fall.
I push the tip of my middle finger into her anus. That
little ring of muscle slams shut upon my finger like a
jail-cell door!
Of a sudden, her entire body goes stiff. I clamp my
lips down around her clit and suck; my tongue flicking
the tip of the tiny cone of ridged flesh. She is trying
to pull my whole head into her cunt!
My face is washed in the juices flowing from her pussy.
The tangy sweetness sends chills up my spine as my
lovely companion is wracked with shudders. I'm almost
forced to hold her up while she rides the waves of her
orgasm!
By the end of "The Teacher," the song which follows
"Aqua-lung," the luscious brunette has recovered enough
to return the favor. She gives me that half-smile of
hers before dropping to her knees.
For a moment she seems hypnotized by my throbbing prick
as it bobs in front of her face. But she recovers
quickly. She wraps her delicate hand around the base of
my shaft and presses her lips to its head. Her tongue
flicks across the tiny slit in the end, catching up the
bead of pre-seminal moisture which clung there like a
tiny pearl.
I look down on her as she swirls her tongue around the
head of my cock. My fingers are caught up in her hair;
not pulling toward me, but holding her head for lack of
anything else to do.
Presently, she engulfs the mushroom-like head of my
dick with her mouth. She begins to suck on only the
head as the hand she had wrapped around the base of the
shaft shifts to capture my balls. The sweet mouth of
the young lady then begins to pull me in. Slowly, inch
by inch, she draws my throbbing member into her mouth
and down her throat. Eventually, I feel her nose press
into my pubic hair as my entire eight-inch prod
vanishes between her lovely, sweet lips.
She begins to slowly move her head up and down the
length of my cock, never releasing the suction she has
built. I can see her cheeks dimpling with the suction
of her mouth. She begins to bob and weave, rolling the
head around with her tongue at the top of every stroke.
Faster and faster, she pulls me in and releases me.
I'm soon gritting my teeth. The fabulous sensation of
her mouth and throat upon my cock is driving me crazy.
I can feel that old, familiar pressure beginning to
build in my balls. Just as I begin to think I can't
stand it anymore, the brunette backs her had away until
only the head of my prick is in her mouth. Then she
begins humming along with the song being played by Tull
- "Cross-Eyed Mary," I believe.
My balls explode! When my cock jumps, I swear I must
loosen her front teeth! I pump streams of slippery
cream into her mouth and, try as she might, she cannot
keep a thin trickle from running from the corner of her
mouth. The feeling of her swallowing my cum only
prolongs the jolts of my orgasm.
She licks my cock clean and uses her fingers to catch
the trickle running down her chin. My sweet lover makes
a show of licking this last dab of my cream from her
fingers.
I pull her up from the floor and our mouths meet in a
lingering kiss. I can taste my jism mingling with the
sweetness of her mouth. It only serves to turn me on
further.
Her cool fingers encircle my still ridged member and,
using it as a handle, she pulls me down into a kneeling
position once more. This time, though, she is down here
with me. She pushes my back until I am sitting on my
heels.
As I watch in the dim light which filters between the
people of the crowd, she releases my cock and grabs the
neckline of her dress. With a jerk, she tears the neck
apart. With another, the front of her dress splits down
to her navel. She pulls the flaps of fabric away from
her lovely breasts. They are creamy smooth and no
larger than baseballs. Her breasts stand out proudly
from her chest with puckered, pink nipples screaming
for attention.
Grasping a handful of my hair, she pushes my face into
her left breast. I pull most of her tit into my mouth,
rolling her nipple around on my tongue. Her moan is
lost in the crowd noise, but I feel it through my
mouth.
Moving carefully so as not to dislodge my sucking lips,
the brunette squats down upon my lap. Slowly, she
impales herself upon my throbbing cock. As she eases
herself down, I can no longer reach her tits with my
mouth. I cup her right breast in my left hand while my
right arm circles her waist. With a flex of my thighs,
I thrust my prod into her to the hilt. The grip of her
silken pussy upon my cock is sheerest bliss.
For a moment we stay like this, my cock in her wet
pussy as far as it will go, my fingers pinching and
rolling her nipple. Then, she eases herself up and I
lower myself back to the floor. As she lets gravity
pull her down onto my prick, I use my thighs to meet
her halfway.
Slowly at first, we continue in this manner, but soon
our rhythm is increasing in speed. She comes down on
me, I move up to meet her. As we slide apart, her
clutching vaginal muscles show their reluctance in
losing my cock.
Faster and still faster we thrust ourselves into/onto
each other until we are each gasping for breath. Her
head is thrown back, mouth open as, presently, I feel
her body begin to shudder in the forewarnings of her
orgasm. I, too, can feel the boiling surge building in
my testicles. I grit my teeth to hold the inevitable at
bay as long as I can.
When, finally, she can no longer hold out against the
rushing tide of her release, the brunette drops down
upon my pole one last time. She hooks her legs around
my back. She buries her face in my neck, biting my
shoulder through the material of my T-shirt. I feel her
nails bite into my back.
As for myself, I can but hold on. Both of my hands now
hold her arching back as I feel her entire body tense.
She is screaming into my shoulder!
I can stave off my own orgasm no longer. I hear myself
gasp as my cock fires the first salvo off into her
hungry vagina. Stream after stream of my viscous cum
are thrust from my prick, only to be gobbled up by her
clutching pussy.
After an eternal minute, we are holding on to each
other to keep from slumping to the floor. We kiss
tenderly. I stroke her back and she plays with my hair.
A few minutes longer and we recover enough to climb to
our feet. We are still each leaning upon the other, but
we are feeling stable enough to stand that way for a
time.
We watch the rest of the show holding each other. There
are only a few more songs before Ian Anderson calls his
final "Good Night!" to the crowd and vanishes from the
stage. A few moments after that, the house lights come
up.
As the crowd begins to slowly filter out, my lovely
brunette lover takes my hand. She licks the length of
my index finger before drawing it into her mouth. The
wonderful sensation of her tongue sliding my finger as
she sucks on it rapidly brings my resting prick to full
attention.
Smiling up at me for the merest moment, she takes my
finger from her mouth and pulls me along through the
crowd by the hand. Holding the front of her dress
closed with her free hand, she pulls me out into the
cool night air. Our breath becomes thin plumes of mist
in the chill April night.
The young woman pulls me along until we reach her
apartment, only a few blocks from the concert hall. We
make love about five more times that night and into the
morning.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 63