Sinful Serenade

Kenneth She swirls her tongue around my crown, swallowing me inch by inch. Gagging, her sapphire eyes gaze into mine as she takes me to the back of her throat. I squeeze it, relishing in the feeling of my big d**k inside her. "That's it. Suck it like the desperate slut you are," I growl. She moans in response, the sound traveling straight to my balls. Grasping her hair firmly, I guide her head up and down my throbbing length. She reaches out to touch me, but seems to immediately remember the cardinal rule I'd set before this began. Don't f*****g touch me. The thought of her hands on me sends a surge of revulsion through my veins. I should put an end to this and send her away, but instead, I find myself considering a more suitable punishment. I reach down and pinch her nostrils closed, forcing my d**k farther down her throat as I hold her in place. Her eyes widen in terror, her pupils dilating as she struggles against my relentless grasp. Each twist and turn of her body elicits a dark surge of excitement and adrenaline, sending shivers down my spine. The sensation of control is intoxicating; empowering. It's a heady sensation to hold someone's life in your hands, to be the arbiter of their fate, deciding whether they live or die. God does it, so why can't I? A sinister smirk twists my lips as I grant her a gasp of precious air, savoring the terror that lingers in her eyes. She recoils, coughing and sputtering, tears mingling with mascara as they streak down her cheeks in dark rivulets. Despite her fear, I can sense her lingering desire to please me, to submit to my every will and embrace her own degradation. It's evident in the trembling of her form, the unwavering gaze that meets mine even in the midst of her distress. With my hand still fisting her hair, I snarl, "Hands behind your back. If I have to ask again, I won't bless you with my c*m down your f*****g throat." She whimpers, but immediately obeys. With her hands clasped behind her back, I f**k her face, my balls slapping against her chin in a frenzied pace. The palpable scent of her fear hangs heavily in the air, filling my senses with its delicious f*****g aroma. It stirs something primal within me, awakening the dark desires that I struggle to keep suppressed, and in this moment, nothing else matters but the ecstasy of my own depravity. Images of blood, dark and alluringly beautiful, flash vividly in my mind, tempting me to give in to the sinister cravings that lurk beneath the surface. As I reach the peak of my pleasure, I release my pent-up frustration in a violent explosion, filling her mouth with my hot, sticky release. The good little slut swallows every drop without hesitation. "Lick it clean," I growl, my voice dripping with contempt. Her gaze remains locked on mine as she obediently sucks my crown clean, the wet sound of her lips separating from me with a loud "pop" that punctuates the air. Once my d**k begins to soften, I say, "you're dismissed." Her eyes widen, her lower lip protruding in a pout. "But Kenny-" "Get. Out. Now." Watching with a cold detachment, she scrambles to her feet and scurries from the room like a wounded animal. The tour bus slams shut behind her with a resounding echo that reverberates through the silence. I slump against the seat, feeling only halfway satisfied. Twenty-five percent, actually. But it's better than nothing. I take a deep breath, the tension in the air dissipating slightly, before I reach for a bottle of scotch and pour myself a stiff drink. This is all a temporary reprieve from the emptiness that threatens to consume me on a daily basis, a fleeting escape from the abyss that lurks within. All of the groupies are the same. They're eager to suck and f**k their way into my pockets, some even hope that it will lead to something more, but I don't need that s**t in my life. And I never go back for seconds. Expectations? I have enough of those in my life. I quickly found after achieving stardom that touching the same p***y twice creates more expectations, and before you know it, there's some clingy slut who can't take a f*****g hint and move on. I made that mistake only once, and it cost me. A lot. I ended up with a potential lawsuit, but once the crazy b***h stabbed me in the chest and ended up in a mental institution, it was as if she never existed. Never f*****g again. As I fasten my pants, the faint shuffle of approaching footsteps interrupt my thoughts. I look up to find Gage standing in the doorway of my room, a sly grin playing at the corners of his lips. "That's the seventh heart you've shattered this week, Kenny. A new personal record." "They were boring," I mutter, my indifference palpable. He chuckles softly. "You say that about all of them. She was pretty hot." Looks mean little to me. If they can't nourish my soul, quiet the demons in my head, they don't mean s**t to me. "C'mon, it's time for sound check. Julio's gonna chew your ass out if you're late again." I toss back the glass of scotch, the fiery liquid searing its path down my throat. My jaw clenches as I swallow. "Let him. I don't give a fuck." Seven years as the lead singer of Devil's Knights, and yet happiness still seems so out of reach. Every day is the same-traveling, shows, and the suffocating weight of expectations. You'd think with my wealth and fame, I'd be able to find a girl to satisfy me completely, but it hasn't happened yet, and I highly doubt it will. They can't handle the kind of man I am; the whispering voices in the recesses of my mind that crave their blood and tears...that want to break them, and revel in their pain. Gage eyes me with a mixture of amusement and concern. He knows better than to argue further when I'm in this mood. With a resigned sigh, he gestures with his head for me to follow him outside. I slowly rise from my seat, slipping my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. Stepping outside, I'm met with the organized chaos of crew members preparing for sound check. Julio, our band manager, spots me and marches over, frustration evident in his furrowed brow. "Kenneth, we need to discuss your time management. You're late again," he begins, his voice tight. I meet his gaze with a cool indifference, unbothered by his attempts at discipline. "Save it for someone who gives a s**t, Julio," I retort. His jaw tightens, but before he can respond, the sound technician signals that it's time to begin. With a final, dismissive glance, I stride past Julio towards the stage, eager to lose myself in the music and drown out the noise of my excruciating existence.