by Lord Malinov
Brandon stopped to check his hair in the mirror. Dark eyes surveyed their own pale cheeks with a self-satisfied sorrow. He pushed a long lock of black hair behind his ear. A creative urgency shook his thin shoulders and Brandon turned sharply profile, striking a haughty pose. Pleased with the image he presented, Brandon began to look for his notebook.
Rising from the small clutter on his walnut vanity, Brandon systematically searched the cream and beige room for his black leather journal. The dark object sat boldly on the nightstand, eclipsing the tails of the red numerals of his digital clock.
In the sparkle of illusion
“Let’s go,” said Carl, walking into Brandon as he turned out of the staircase. Brandon stumbled slightly, while Carl bowled forward.
“I’m ready,” said Brandon, clutching his leather binder to the billowing white shirt over his thin chest.
“You look like Blake,” said Carl. “Not like a mask, but with his style. Really cool.” Brandon looked at the clock, lately uneclipsed..
“Let’s go,” said Brandon in a quiet voice, affected to sound like Blake’s precise diction, a sorrow-laden voice appropriate for his worldly looking visage. “They wait.”
“Excellent,” said Carl, following his dramatic friend out the apartment door.
Brandon took a deep breath of the sultry night air, feeling the aura of Blake in his blood, breathing in the same warm breeze.
“He’s out there, tonight.”
“We’ll never see him,” said Carl the unbeliever. Brandon’s shoulders shook and he laughed. Blake was in the air.
“We might,” Brandon said coolly, teasing the sound of Blake out of himself.
“I know a guy. Bunch of industry people are going to be partying at the Hilton. He said Blake should show up.”
“How are we going to get in?” asked Carl the dubious.
“We just act like we belong. Who’ll know who we are?”
“Yeah,” said Carl standing outside the passenger door. “We belong. If we don’t belong, who are we?”
“Whatever we believe.” Brandon’s intonation conjured vision’s of Blake on stage.
A half-hour of mingling brought Brandon sitting, almost sulking, in a comfortable lounge chair near the ventilator of one of the rooms. Carl talked to a tall busty redhead about the problems of managing an outdoor festival. Brandon opened his notebook.
The steady drone of twilight
Drowns promises of starlight
“Hello,” she said. Brandon turned to look at the perky blonde who had taken a place, leaning on the table beside him. He twirled the cap back on his pen and flipped his notebook closed. Bright blue eyes danced as they watched him.
“Hello,” Brandon said, flattered and happy.
“Are you?” the nervous blonde spoke quietly.
“Blake,” he said unconsciously. She bit her lip and moaned softly. Brandon’s eyes went wide as he realized what he had said without meaning.
“I thought so,” she said, gaily. “You play guitar with that band, don’t you?”
“Sing,” said Brandon, flipping back his hair in a characteristic motion, erasing the cloud of his deception by transforming it into an exercise in acting.
“I saw you guys play the Roxy in Bedford and you were great. Good guitar.” She bubbled her enthusiasm.
“Sing,” said Bradford, although she wouldn’t have cared if she had heard.
“You should, you know, play something for us. I saw some instruments over by the bed. Are they yours?”
“No, no,” said Bradford. “We should go someplace quieter, where we can talk.”
“We can talk here, but if you want to go somewhere else, I’m all yours, Blake,” She spoke loudly. Bradford blushed. Carl looked over and smiled. The tall redhead rolled her eyes.
Bradford took the pretty blonde’s arm and led her into the hallway. Peering in an open door, Bradford found a vacant room. He closed the door with a sturdy click.
“Can I show you my pussy before I suck you off?” she asked with a purr. Bradford nodded as she lifted her long skirt to her waist and pressed her gold satin panties down. “I’d like you to lick her, just a stroke of your tongue on my clit. When I listen to your music, I’ll feel your tongue right there.” She pushed a pizza carton off the bed and lay back, her knees high atop lean legs. Brandon stared for a moment, stunned at the brazen image of her wet pussy spread in invitation. He pushed his tongue where her fingers led him. She squealed as a lusty river poured from her swollen lips. He licked the soft folds of her labia and she grabbed his hair hard, pulling his tongue sternly against her erect clitoris, her legs spread harshly wide. He pushed a finger into her ass. She pulled hair from his head as she came.
“You like my ass?” she asked. Brandon sighed, unzipping his trousers to set his rigid pole loose. “Wanna fuck my ass, Blake?”
“I’ll fuck your ass, bitch,” Brandon said in his best imitation of Blake. It sounded hollow as she rolled over on the bed. Her asshole glistened wet after the savage bout of head. Brandon pushed his hardness into the tight grip of her ass. She shuddered and began to rock in the rhythm of an orgasmic butt fuck. He smacked her creamy bottom with an open hand. “Fuck,” Brandon said.
“Oh, oh, tell me you love me you bastard,” she said. Her convulsive asshole teased his prick.
“I love you,” he said, a poor imitation of Blake. “I love you,” he said, better, as he smacked her firm bottom.
“You’re fucking my goddam ass, Blake” she howled, rubbing his dick ferociously within her muscular hole.
“I love you,” he said, a perfect replica of Blake as he seized her waist and pulled her harder against his fuck. She played with her clit.
“I’m going to come,” she shouted, “with Blake fucking my pretty girl ass”
“I love you,” Brandon said, rather sincerely. He stroked her trembling flesh steadily, driving each moan to new heights.
“Come in my mouth,” she said. “I want to taste you.” Brandon lay his throbbing prick, a curved scimitar, against her lips.
“Suck me,” Brandon said slowly.
“I’m your fucking bitch,” she said coldly. “Let me drink your seed.”
“I would fuck you forever,” he said as his dick vanished into her mouth. “I love you.” He pushed deep into her open throat and taking hold of her golden curls, he teased his dick in the depths as she struggled to breath. Her breasts hung low, heavy and fertile, fluid with each subtle motion of their fuck. Her tongue tormented his cock with excited tickling. “I love you,” he said and he poured his love in warm spurts into the pink softness of her waiting mouth.
“Mmm,” she said, licking her lips. Brandon fell back into a chair, stunned. Spreading her legs toward him, she licked her finger and teased her stiff clit. “You let me know if you want some more.”
“Hmm,” Brandon said, wilted. She swung her body over and pushed her ass at him.
“I loved the way you fucked my ass, Blake,” she said, wiggling her backside.
“Oh,” Brandon said, wanting to get up.
“C’mon,” she said, waggling her rump too provocatively to resist. Brandon stood. The doorknob rattled. “Sarah?” a voice in the hallway yelled.
“Sarah?” Brandon asked.
“Nope,” she said.
“We’d better go,” he said, troubled by the intrusion.
“Let me give you my number.”
“Sure,” Brandon said.
“When are you guys leaving town?”
“Soon,” Brandon said quietly. “Too soon.”
“Call me,” she said, fixing her panties. “You owe me an ass fucking. See you at the show.” She rushed out the door.
Brandon looked in the mirror. The Blake hair styling had abruptly bloomed into a much more noticeably Brandon-esque look. Brandon smiled. Maybe Blake would pay her the ass fucking. Brandon felt his shoulders shake as he imagined the scene. Blake breathing the same air, sucking the same clit, fucking the same ass.
Brandon pushed a lock of black hair behind his ear and went looking for a way to get home.