("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `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 Archive name: cricket.txt (MF, 1st-oral, mast) Authors name: Xander Dig (xanderdg@hotmail.com) Story title : Cricket -------------------------------------------------------- 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. -------------------------------------------------------- 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