Backstage Mistress

PLEASE NOTE: The band “Tundra” as featured in this story is entirely fictitious.

The first thing you have to understand about me is that I’m a rock chick with a very particular style. Take, for example, my goth inspired wardrobe, my ten piercings and the white-blonde dreadlocks that go all the way down to my backside. I don’t think anyone could accuse me of not being unique. In my day to day life I’m independent, in control and that’s the way I like it.

But there’s another side to me. A side that’s always been dormant, waiting for someone to come along and sense it in me. Normally, if I want something, I make it well known. But when it comes to the thing I really want, I can never seem to find the words to say it. The thing is; I long to belong to someone. To be controlled by them, strictly but lovingly. The thought sets my pulse racing and my clit tingling and I don’t even know why. Whenever I get a new piercing and the sharp, cold metal parts my flesh, I fantasise that it’s a lover putting their mark on me, showing the world that I’m theirs.

The problem is, the way I look tends to give men the wrong impression. Without fail, they assume that I’m a dominatrix who’s going to whip them into shape and demand they perform all kinds of dastardly acts. My life had reached a point where I was getting pretty sick of it and I wondered if people would ever stop making assumptions about me based solely on my sense of style.

I mused on the unfairness of life in this way as I got ready for the evening ahead. My friend Sophie and I were going to see Tundra, who’ve been my favourite band for as long as I can remember. To set the mood I pushed their latest CD into my player and the sound of pounding drums and guitars filled the room, shortly followed by the hypnotic sound of the lead singer’s voice.

Tundra’s singer is called Lydia and she rocks. Over the years I must have spent hundreds of hours listening to that voice, somehow both silken and razor sharp, singing words that seemed destined just for me. When I was happy, when I was sad, when life seemed too much to bear, Lydia was always there for me, no further away than my headphones. And tonight, I would finally get to see her in the flesh.

I took my time getting ready and only once I’d squeezed into my PVC minidress, laced up my big, black boots and tied my dreadlocks into two cascading bunches did I finally open my lacquered jewellery box. Slowly and carefully I lifted out the beautiful, leather collar that I’d treated myself to some months previously.

The collar was black with a delicate spider web design running round it and a dainty silver ring at the front. Most people who saw it assumed it was just another gothic accessory. However, there was a certain type of person who would spot it and know it for the sure sign of a submissive. I just hoped that some of those people would be at the gig tonight; I was determined to find my perfect dom.

* * *
Later that evening, I found myself rushing to meet Sophie in the queue outside the venue. I was running late, having spent an excessively long time admiring my accessory in the mirror. Despite my tardiness we were still near the front of the queue, however, and got chatting to the girl in front of us.

Her name was Tara. She was a willowy girl with piercing brown eyes and she wore head to toe Tundra merchandise. It transpired she was an even more obsessive fan than me and had followed the band on their tour throughout Europe. I couldn’t help but be impressed by her dedication.

“So, do you guys fancy coming backstage after the show?” she asked us out of the blue, as casually as if she was inviting us for a pub lunch.

Sophie and I looked at each other quizzically.

“Um, can you do that?” asked Sophie, obviously unconvinced.

“Oh yeah, I’ve done it loads of times. Security are suckers for a pretty girl. And of course three pretty girls is even better!” she giggled a dirty giggle.

“Sure, why not,” I grinned, “God, meeting Lydia, can you imagine!”

“Oh Lydia’s great, but Thomas is my personal favourite,” she let out that filthy laugh again. Thomas is Tundra’s mean and moody bass player, who seems to emanate sex appeal in waves.

We went back to discussing the finer points of Tundra’s back catalogue and all the while I was keeping an eye on the fans passing us to join the back of the queue. Part of me was hoping to see my perfect, dominant partner at any moment. They were an interesting bunch, that was for sure, but as yet no one seemed to have spotted my collar. Still, there was plenty of time yet.

I remained hopeful. As the doors opened and we flowed into the tiny venue I kept toying with the ring on the collar, casting subtle little glances around. Everyone seemed too preoccupied with their excitement to notice, however, and I couldn’t blame them. My stomach was doing back flips as Sophie, Tara and I raced up to the stage and managed to bag a front row spot. We hugged each other, laughing and slightly giddy, surrounded by the familiar rock-show scent of cheap beer and excitement.

It seemed to take a lifetime but eventually everyone was packed in and the room went pitch black. Excited screams filled the air followed by the chant “Tundra! Tundra!”

Keeping us waiting until the excitement reached fever pitch, the band finally burst onto the stage in a flood of blue lighting and a riot of sound. They launched into their newest and most popular single to the ecstatic cheers of the crowd.

It didn’t take me long to forget about finding someone to dominate me and let myself be taken over by the music instead. We had a fantastic view and the acoustics were out of this world, every note reverberating round the hall and matched by the screams of the crowd.

It was about halfway through the set when something very strange happened. Right from the beginning of the song, I’d felt someone’s eyes on me; that inexplicable yet undeniable sensation of being watched. I ran a hand over my hair self-consciously and glanced about, trying to figure out who was observing me. Eventually my eyes came to rest on the stage. On the small but imposing figure of Lydia herself.

Lydia, with her dyed blue hair and miniskirt to match. Lydia, with her ripped, punk-rock top held together by delicate silver chains. Lydia, the lead singer of Tundra, was caressing the microphone with her lips and purring out an incredibly sexy song as she stared unblinkingly at me.

There was no mistaking it. Even though I couldn’t rip my eyes off her, I could sense the disbelief of Sophie and Tara beside me as they realised I was being serenaded.

“You’re in there, kiddo,” whispered Tara in my ear.

“But I’m not a lesbian!” was my first, resounding thought.

Why, then, was I so hellishly turned on? Why did the feeling behind my quickening pulse and tingling skin feel so much like lust? And why did my eyes keep returning to the flesh peeping tantalisingly through the rips in Lydia’s top?

Because I’m a big fan, I told myself. I’ve idolised her for years and now here she is, singing to me, of course I’m excited. But part of me didn’t quite buy that convenient explanation. I was unnerved and turned on as she prowled across the stage towards me, her honey voice continuing to fill the hall. Her voice that was dangerous and oh so sweetly seductive.

By the final verse of the song I found myself face to face with the singer as she crouched down on the edge of the stage and sang right to me. She was close enough to touch but my body seemed rooted to the spot. Delivering the final line in barely a whisper, she suddenly flashed me a private and devastatingly evil smile. As the crowd went wild she reached out her slender fingers to my neck, hooked them round the silver ring at my throat and tugged me towards her, ever so gently. We kept eye contact for a powerful, meaningful beat, our faces inches from each other.

Then, just like that, she was out of my grasp, back onto the stage and getting the crowd ready for another raucous song. Our spell was broken and as far as I could tell she didn’t so much as look at me for the rest of the gig. I was confused, elated and horny. For the rest of the show, my skin couldn’t seem to forget the whisper of Lydia’s fingertips and I couldn’t forget that wicked smile.

After the last song was sung, the band had departed the stage and the harsh, neon lights were switched back on, Tara turned to me and I saw that her eyes were brimming with excitement.

“Next stop, backstage!”

“Um, I’m not sure…” I started to stammer, suddenly very nervous about meeting a rock star who had serenaded me in front of a hall full of people and even more nervous at the strange craving of my body to feel her touch again.

My protests were dismissed by Tara and Sophie as they grabbed my hands and started dragging me against the direction of the thronging crowd, towards a small door next to the stage. It was flanked by a burly security guard.

“Oh well, never mind,” I started, before realising Tara was already working her magic on the unwitting doorman.

“So you see, sir,” I heard her wheedle in a beguiling tone, “I’d be ever so grateful if you could let us through. Call it a favour to my friend,” at this point she gestured at me, “she’s got a bit of a crush on Lydia.”

I was mortified. Everyone seemed to be oblivious to my horror as Tara’s charms started to work. The security guard’s austere expression visibly altered as he no doubt imagined some depraved scenario where mine and Lydia’s naked limbs were wrapped around each other in a sweaty frenzy.

After a few seconds of lusty imaginings he cast a glance over the three of us and with a resigned expression said, “I’ll see what I can do,” before disappearing through the door. Tara was grinning like the cat who’d got the cream and Sophie looked stunned that the tactic had worked.

It wasn’t long before the security guard put his head round the door and said to us, “come on then girls, they’re in the dressing room,” for which he was treated to a grateful snog from Tara.

Not quite believing this was happening, Sophie and I exchanged a bemused look before following Tara and the security guard down a narrow corridor lined with concert posters, through a labyrinth of passages and staircases until we reached a door with a star containing the word “Tundra” tacked to it.

“Have fun, ladies,” he smirked, his imagination no doubt working overtime.

As he walked back to his post, footsteps echoing on the wooden floorboards, I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if I could actually do this. I’d loved the band for years, I’d admired Lydia for years, but somehow tonight that admiration had taken on a whole new meaning. She’d serenaded me. She’d caressed my skin. And I’d loved it. The new feelings swirling about my body excited and scared me at the same time until the combined emotions were almost too much to bear. If Sophie hadn’t linked my arm and pushed open the door I think I might just have run very fast in the opposite direction.

Stepping nervously into the dimly lit dressing room, I inhaled the unmistakable, musty smell of cigarettes and beer. The three male members of the band were lounging around on black, leather sofas looking hot, sweaty and still slightly euphoric from the gig. Lydia was standing with her back to us looking out a window at the far end of the room and talking into a cell phone. In my boots I was slightly taller than her, yet I still felt small in her presence, as if her aura was all-consuming.

Eventually, she stopped talking, flipped the phone closed and turned round to face the room, wearing a huge smile.

“Guys, the album’s just gone double platinum!”

Ear-splitting cheers erupted around the room and the band members rushed to hug each other. The drummer produced a bottle of champagne and opened it with a pop.

Tara, Sophie and I stood there awkwardly. Eventually the band members noticed us and came over to hug us, too. Tara shot me a euphoric grin as she was enveloped in Thomas’ arms and pressed against his muscular body. And then, finally, Lydia recognised me.

“Well hello,” she purred in a voice as glossy as her hair, “nice to see you again.”

My heart was thumping and I felt as if it was just the two of us there in the room. Suddenly, I wished that it was. As far as I could see, Tara and Sophie were already having a great time flirting with the bass player and the drummer.

Lydia walked slowly towards me and suddenly all the nervousness and arousal flooding through me seemed to increase tenfold. I wondered if this was a good idea. Should I explain that I don’t go for women? It seemed ridiculous to do so, however, as the wetness growing between my legs seemed to suggest otherwise.

She was before me now, as close as before and I inhaled the scent of musky incense from her skin. It was so unlike the smell of any man I’d been with.

“I like your collar,” she said with big, bedroom eyes, telling me wicked things without having to speak them, “and your hair.”

Not waiting for permission, she reached out a hand and stroked over my dreadlocks, her fingers gripping tightly around one of the bunches and giving it a gentle tug before running her hand right the way down it, all along my quivering back.

“Thanks,” I managed to squeak out amidst the fog of arousal suffocating my senses.

“Hey, you know what would look really cool?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. Clearly not about to wait for an answer, my seductress unclipped one of the dainty silver chains from her top. As she removed it one of the rips gaped open, leaving the gentle dip between her small breasts clearly on show. It was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

As I stood there, paralysed with desire and uncertainty, she clipped one end of the chain into the ring at my neck and wrapped the other end around her left hand. There was a gentle but insistent pressure at my neck as she tugged me towards her and I revelled in the new sensation. The missing part of me was coming to life.

Using the chain, she guided me towards her until my face was mere inches from hers. I thought she was going to kiss me and wished with all my being that she would. Instead she whispered to me in a low voice. I was so close I could almost feel her lips reverberate as they voiced the words.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”

Without a word to the others in the room, she grabbed the open bottle of champagne and led me gently but firmly out of the room and down the corridor. On the way a technician carrying a large speaker passed us. He stared at me as he went and I was aware I must look quite a spectacle on the end of Lydia’s leash in my skimpy PVC dress. Scarlet embarrassment blossomed on my cheeks as I wondered what he must think. Lydia kept on leading me, unperturbed, and all the while the dampness between my legs grew.

Eventually we slipped into a small, inconspicuous room packed with assorted musical equipment. Lydia slid shut the lock on the door and the small ‘click’ sounded like my fate being sealed. All I could do now was wait and see what was in store for me.

She unclipped the chain from my collar and perched herself on top of a large speaker while wearing an expression that was suddenly serious.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Leanne,” I replied.

“Well, Leanne, let me lay it out. I want to fuck you.”

At this point I think my heart may have briefly stopped.

“But there’s something I want even more. I want you to be mine. Not forever, don’t look so worried. I just think we would both enjoy having a little debauched fun tonight, and for that, I need you to be completely mine. If at any point you can’t handle it, it’s important that you tell me. Just say ‘blue’ and we’ll stop right there. I want this to be fun for both of us.”

“Yes, mistress,” I said without hesitation. It seemed the right way to address this delightfully stern woman.

“Excellent,” she grinned, looking very pleased with my choice of words. “So I was right about you then. God, your need to be dominated was calling out to me, you little slut.” The sultry, dangerous edge to her voice was back and I felt myself slipping deeper into my submission. I felt safe in her presence even as I was nervously imagining what she might do to me.

“First things first. Lose the clothes.”

My face caught fire. Suddenly shy, I debated with myself for all of half a second whether I was brave enough to strip in front of her. My need to please her and hopefully be pleasured by her won out and I unzipped and stepped out of my minidress before pushing down my spidery black thong. I straightened up, acutely aware of my nakedness aside from the boots and collar.

“You sure like your piercings don’t you?” she smirked, looking me up and down. “Shall we count them?”

Without waiting for an answer she positioned herself behind me, so close I could feel her body heat as her chest pushed against my back.

“Now don’t move, baby,” she instructed, before setting about a rigorous examination of all my piercings with her hot little hands. It was pure agony. They danced down the responsive skin of my ears, playing between every stud. They traced my eyebrows and the metal bars that punctuated them. In no hurry they worked their way down, over the contours of my nose and lips, investigating all the metal with which I’ve decorated my body over the years.

By the time her hands reached my breasts I was making small, desperate noises which made her laugh softly. They certainly didn’t hurry her along, though. She breathed softly on my neck as she drew trails of blazing agony around the outside of my breasts with the very tips of her nails, slowly spiraling inwards to my brazenly erect nipples.

When, finally, her dextrous fingers found their way to my pebble-like nips she simply give a small twist to the metal bar in each one, causing jolts of fiery pleasure to shoot straight down to my clit. Just when I thought my body couldn’t come any more alive, she brushed a fingertip over the ring in the hood of my clit and something inside me imploded. My pussy was slick at her teasing touches and I realised with a shock that no one had ever made me feel this way before. She already had her wish; I was hers.

For a lengthy amount of time she toyed with my body, touching me everywhere she could think of except my clit. I became lost in the rhythm of her skin on my skin, trying to anticipate where she would touch me next, desperate for her to stop, while at the same time aching for her to go on. When at one point I let an involuntary moan pass my lips she gave me a sharp spank and told me not to make any more noise. Knowing I mustn’t cry out suddenly made me want to do so even more and as I kept the pleasure locked inside I felt like it was threatening to burst through my skin.

She must have gauged that I was reaching bursting point because she stopped the exploration and came face to face with me, scrutinising me relentlessly. I’d never felt so on show.

“God you look beautiful when you’re horny and frustrated,” she said with a big smile as I looked beseechingly into her blue eyes, “let’s see what we can do about that.”

Her skirt raised enough for me to catch a glimpse of black, lacy underwear as she bent over to retrieve a bag nestled amongst a pile of equipment. My curiosity was soon satisfied as she pulled out a gleaming, glass dildo. My eyes were wide as I studied it; a clear glass shaft with a swirling blue pattern running round the outside, ending in a rounded tip. I shuddered expectantly as I wondered what those cold ridges would feel like inside the warm and waiting contours of my pussy.

She saw me looking and her smile broadened.

“Pretty, isn’t it? I bet you want it in you, don’t you, dirty girl?”

“Yes mistress,” I gasped.

“Oh I bet you do. The trouble is, so do I. Hands behind your back.” Her tone was becoming ever stricter and the stricter it got the more I ached for her.

Standing directly in front of me and leaning back on a speaker, she lifted her skirt and pulled aside her knickers to expose her glorious pussy to me. It was deliciously pink and succulent and I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing as she plunged the glass shaft right into up into herself. Moaning with pleasure, she grabbed her lift breast through a rip in her shirt and groped it shamelessly, sucking a finger then using it to stimulate the nipple as she pounded the dildo ever more powerfully into herself.

I was in raptures watching this exhibitionist display. I frantically wanted to touch my clit but my hands were pinned behind my back at her say so and I didn’t want to break the magic of our game. So instead I rocked a little on the spot, my pussy trying to find something, anything to grind on but only coming up against the air as incoherent, lusty noises escaped my throat.

Lydia pulled the glistening toy from her pussy.

“God, you really are desperate for it, aren’t you,” she chided, “all right then. Bend over, you slut.”

All inhibitions eradicated, I lowered myself so I was resting my forearms on top of a huge speaker and raised my ass in the air. I felt the smooth tip of Lydia’s dildo at the entrance to my pussy.

“Tell me how much you want it,” she instructed me and I could feel her breath on my neck as she spoke.

“Oh God, please, put it in me,” I wailed.

“Sorry?” she asked innocently as her other hand found my nipple again and delighted in toying with the bar pierced through it.

“Lydia, I need it, I want it, fuck me, fuck me with your huge cock, put it in me now,” the desire was flowing out of me in a torrent of words and some of it must have pleased her because, ever so slowly, she inserted the dildo, now covered with both her juices and mine, into my hungry pussy.

She waited until it was all the way inside before trailing her fingers down to my clit and taking the metal ring there in her fingers, turning it one way and then the other and sending shivers up my spine. She continued the manipulation of my clit ring as the dildo found its way into and out of me at increasing speed. The sensation grew as she pounded it into me furiously; propelling me towards orgasm as surely as if she was leading me there by a leash.

Despite my earlier promise of silence I let out a loud moan as I was engulfed in wave after wave of ecstasy. The abandoned sound of my own voice turned me on even more and after that I couldn’t shut up. My moans increased in volume as Lydia started to press directly on my clit as she pushed smooth glass shaft into me again and again.

“Oh fuck, yes!!” I screamed as my body quivered and pulsed, riding wave after powerful wave of expertly administered pleasure.

As I came down from my orgasm I opened my eyes to find her lounging back on the speaker, playing with herself leisurely under her skirt.

“Tonight,” she said in a lusty voice, “we celebrate.” She grabbed the open champagne bottle and held it high.

“To rock and roll debauchery!”

I was still dazed from the amazing orgasm and before I could respond, she was tipping the champagne all over me so that the fizzing liquid ran down my breasts and stomach, trickling its way to my still-tingling pussy.

“Oh God,” I moaned, as she finally pressed her hot little body into mine.

* * *
After that glorious yet surreal night, life pretty much went back to normal. I knew it wouldn’t happen again and I had no fairy tale expectations of the way things would turn out. She was a rock star and I wasn’t, it was as simple as that. I have to confess, though, I did scribble my number on a scrap of paper and slip it into her bag as I left, just in case. I tried not to think about her too much and was mostly just content to go about my day to day life, knowing that a previously undiscovered part of me had been allowed out to play, if only for one very special night.

Imagine my surprise, then, when last week I received a text from an unknown number. I was just contemplating what to wear to this year’s Tundra gig when I opened the message and read ‘You’d better be in the front row. And you’d better be wearing that collar.’ There was only one person it could be.

So as I stand here now in a dimly lit hall, the air thick with the smell of cheep bear and anticipation, I know that I am different. Everyone here is excited; they can’t wait to see their favourite band. I can’t blame them, it’s going to be a great show. But the butterflies in my stomach and the small smile slowly creeping onto my lips are down to something else altogether; tonight, once again, I am going to be hers – her V.I.P.