Flogging Serpent
My band was the rising star in Canada so we must have made a good target. Nestled on the train headed toward our next destination, Woodstock, my purse was stolen. Unfortunately, it held the entire funding for the band alongside our schedule and credit cards.
It’s not easy being four well-known women with a rock show geared toward sex and having to ask the general public (where everyone wants to get closer) because you’re dead broke. Our heavy disguises were useless now and we were growing more nervous by the second.
We just needed to find a way to Woodstock and contact our manager who couldn’t travel with us due to a relapse of cancer. When I heard a peculiar blend of accents, I nudged the drummer and hissed, “World traveler on board.”
She stopped talking and listened to him ask someone about a historic railway station in Woodstock. She tapped out a tune on her legs, hoping to grab his attention, and loudly asked me, “How long before we get that old gothic place at Woodstock?”
Thankfully, the person he’d asked had shrugged so he turned our way. I lowered my sunglasses, praying he wouldn’t recognize my vivid green eyes. No recognition whatsoever was forthcoming. I breathed a sigh of relief and scooted smoothly over the seat, getting rather friendly with my drummer. It would be a tight squeeze but he needed to sit with us.
I patted the seat and jerked my head. A knowing grin pumped his cheeks under his own shades. When he sat beside me, I noticed his camera pack. Since that was my hobby when I wasn’t parading around half nude on the stage, I complimented him on his taste before lowering my voice, “I’m Melody. I think we can help you but we need a favor in return.”
“Nice to meet you. My name is James and I’m listening.”
I handed him a flyer of our performance and asked, “Ever heard of them?”
At his shake of head, I leaned down and pulled my long skirt up to show the serpent tattoo crawling up my leg. His eyes darted from paper to my leg before realization dawned. Frowning, he nodded and whispered, “You need a photographer…yes?”
“No. We were robbed. We need a ride once we get to Woodstock. We have no money now but we can reimburse you once we get the funds.”
His eyes narrowed but the drummer pulled out a stick, offered it and said, “We play tonight. If we don’t come through, you can sell that and keep the proceeds.”
Her sincerity won him over. She never let people, not even the band, touch her sticks. He nodded and said, “My apologies but I don’t know of you. What type of band?”
I handed him a CD which shot his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. The photo on the cover showed me bent over to display my splendid leather-clad ass being beat with a whip by a volunteer from the audience. His mustache twisted in a contemplative expression that I’d seen many times before a full grin appeared.
“Now you know why we look like nice church ladies on a tour of the historic Woodstock railway station.”
Silent laughter shook his chest and he nodded when I raised a finger to my lips. He leaned down and whispered near my ear, “Can I take photos of your performance as payment instead?”
My reluctance must have spoken volumes because he rushed on, “I’m searching for off the beaten path adventures and you can help…yes?”
I could only imagine what this man had seen on his adventures and the fact that he wanted to include us made me almost giggle. Being tuned in constantly to any noise, his lingo and blended accents sent goose bumps down my tattooed legs. I told him, “Let me talk to the band. You just keep talking. Tell me how you came to speak that way.”
Hanging on every rise and fall of his speech, I couldn’t help the silly grin on my face as he led me from Europe through the states and spoke of climbing on the Ambassador Bridge. He motioned to his bag, “I may be able to offer…”
The drummer suddenly said, “We’ve arrived at Goth central.”
When I glanced back at him, he had his camera to his face. The railway station, built in the 1800s, offered varying sizes of gables with thin windows underneath. To me, it resembled something haunted but all old buildings have ghosts in my book. We quickly collected our things while I said, “Can you pay for us to get to the Quality?”
“Do they have vacancies? I don’t have a room yet.”
Making a snap decision, I shrugged, “Stay with us if they don’t.”
With a quick nod of agreement, he rose and fell in line with the crowd. We stayed close behind him and gathered around as he hailed a taxi. When we settled into the car, refusing to leave his side even though the driver growled at us, he asked where we were playing. I told him the Woodstock Community Centre and shot the driver a grin when his vision darted to the rearview mirror.
Arriving at the hotel, we tumbled out of the taxi when the door opened. Talk about packing it in like sardines but I’d seen public rowdiness before and wasn’t chancing it. We flanked him as I hissed, “Keep close and don’t stop for anyone.”
Normally our manager, a huge formidable fellow, would muscle his way up to our room. When we settled into the elevator, our guitarist said, “They better have delivered our instruments by now.”
I nodded, “Before my purse was lifted, I got a text saying they were waiting for us. In fact, I think that damn text is what alerted whatever idiot thief to my bag in the first place.”
We hurried into our room where we shed the layers of clothing and disguises. His jaw dropped at my fiery red hair with streaks of black. Comfortably clad in only leather bra and shorts, showing my serpent tattoos twining around my legs, his gaze roamed from one snake’s head on the top of my right foot to the other where it bloomed from my cleavage.
The forked tongue, hidden within the cup of my bra, flicked a nipple. I grinned when his gaze rose to mine and said, “Our band, Climactic Noise, is a little different than most.”
Pointing to a few bags on the floor, I said, “We sing alongside playing our instruments with a few…toys.”
Our guitarist, known as Nymph, wiggled plastic tipped fingers before flicking a button. Their vibration hummed in the air before she purred, “I don’t play the guitar. I finesse it into an orgasmic state.”
The drummer, simply Dee, snapped a small whip and said, “And I flog that beat when I’m not striking the skins.”
He glanced at Violet, “Bassist…yes?”
She shook her head, “I play the horn…a special kind of flute.” He laughed when she brought out what looked like a long elaborate cock and brought it to her lips. It was actually a saxophone. His gaze darted back to me, “Melody…you must be the singer.”
I nodded but corrected him, “We like to call me the crooner.”
I dipped my voice down to low seductive note and sang a lyric from one of our songs, causing his eyes to widen as he laughed. Picking up one of Dee’s whips, I said, “We normally have a volunteer from the audience help place the right tone in certain places. Have you ever used a whip?”
He slowly nodded while a far away reflective look bled into his eyes. I grinned, knowing he must be remembering another when and where, and said, “Congrats. You just became our volunteer since our manager isn’t here to select one.”
He picked up his camera, “Can I shoot you now and at the show?”
I nodded, explaining to the band that he wanted us to pay him back with photo opportunities verses money. After posing with equipment, together, and separately, we called our manager to have funds forwarded to us. Since we were booked that night, we advised him when to strike the whip to my ass and why. There were certain songs that required porn-worthy moans.
The audience loved to participate so we’d turned it into a marketing venture as well. Unfortunately, our manager normally evaluated those eager to participate so James had landed amongst us at the perfect time. Even if we chose someone random, they wouldn’t feel inclined to take advantage with another male on the stage.
At show time, James took in the crowd of almost two thousand guests and breathed, “Damn, you guys draw them in…yes?”
“We’ll be at maximum capacity before the night’s over.”
We took the stage, knowing James was shooting photos from the wings. Dee brandished her small dual riding crops for the drum solo, snapping cymbals and skins in a blur of motion that made the audience go wild.
James struck my ass at the proper times, grinning and getting into it, before I draped myself on his tall frame and kissed him. He didn’t seem shocked by the gesture but the next guy we let on stage expected the same. He was pushed back into the ocean of fans where a willing female took him down.
After the concert, we were always thrumming with an adrenaline fueled high. Making our way back to our rooms, we settled into mine where he complimented us on our bizarre performance. After champagne to celebrate, everyone parted. Not caring that he was in the room, I peeled my leather off and motioned toward the shower, “My serpents and I require your services.”
Taking in the forked tongue striking a nipple, he grinned, “Only if my serpent can play with yours.”
I attempted to slur out, “Let’s go flog the beat, create some climactic noise…,” but it came out, “Less go climax a beat and flog some noses.”
Laughing, he grabbed me before I inadvertently flogged the shower curtain and lifted me into the shower. Did I mention champagne goes directly to my head?
I would have slid down the tile wall if he hadn’t braced me in the corner, drawing my legs around his waist. I giggled my way through his sudsy exploration before he wrecked my thoughts with the detachable shower head. Tickling my clit with the spray, he had me writhing in the corner and against him.
I was thrilled to discover his serpent was bumpy with a ringed head. It rubbed against my slit in the most delicious way, firing an ache deep inside for that beaded ring to flog. I’m quite sure the guests on the floor were privy to my singing voice without paying because my moans were bouncing off the tile walls.
I was so close to climaxing when he growled, “Look at me.”
My gaze locked with his as he thrust inside, sending me over the edge of reason. Still holding my dazed eyes, he almost dented the wall behind us with the force of his kiss. My climax sobered me from the champagne haze but knocked me into an arousal-drenched lethargy that heated and relaxed my body like no other substance could.
Bracing my shoulders against the tile walls, I ground my hips against him and moaned in his mouth. With every tight clench of my pussy, his gloriously bedecked serpent struck sweet spots and made me wish I could record that feeling forever. Being on the road with three women didn’t give me much chance at sex so I savored every bump and thrust he granted.
He slid me down the corner and onto the tiled floor, turning me on my side as he slapped my wet ass. My back arched gracefully around his bent knee as my mouth gaped at the sound of my wet queefs. With a curse, he squeezed my breast and jerked deep inside me.
The tap of his cock along my cervix sent my body into an uncontrollable twist as I shrieked his name in another full-blown climax. When my thoughts realigned themselves, I discovered that I was actually glad that someone had stolen my purse. Without that event, I would never have asked for his help.
We slowly disentangled ourselves and stood to clean. I was completely exhausted afterward, resting my forehead on his chest. He cut the shower off, swept me up and wrapped us in towels and a robe before toppling onto the bed. I don’t remember falling asleep but awoke with him wrapped around me.
I lay there, nestled in his arms, until he woke and kissed my shoulder. Turning in his arms, I nibbled his chest but the phone rang and interrupted my plans. It was the front desk letting me know that our manager had called. I discovered he’d had a courier deliver bank cards from a different account.
I ordered breakfast for us, asking James if he was sure we couldn’t pay him back. He shook his head, “I stayed in your hotel room, was involved in a great show, and won a fight with some serpents. A taxi fare is nothing.”
Laughing, I nodded, “That’s some serpent you got there.”
His finger glided up my leg to my slit, where the tail of my serpent was tucked, as he said, “We didn’t flog any noses yet. Are you still game?”
Remembering my slurred stammering, I laughed and nodded but a knock at the door signaled our breakfast had arrived. After he flogged my nose when I ate mine off his cock, he returned the favor and licked his off various parts of my body. I’d never had a better or more memorable meal in my life.
We quickly showered and, as he got dressed, he tossed me a whip, “I think you guys might be able to use this more than me.”
I draped the tails over my ass and grinned when he took a picture. He handed me a card, letting me know he’d send me some photos when I e-mailed him. I let him know we’d load them onto our site. He kissed me and told me to thank the other members before leaving.
I hated to see him go but knew something about being on the road. I accessed my e-mail and our website, waiting for the photos to arrive. When they did, I found several to post onto the site. One of us together and a few while we played. He’d taken a great shot of Dee with the strobes around her and the tip of her whip crashing a cymbal.
Amongst them, he’d included me lying on my side with the his gifted whip’s tails covering my ass and a coy look on my face. The serpent racing down my leg with the whip at the end was fitting for what he’d named it: Flogging the Serpent.
~~ The End ~~
