Dillyn slowly blinked his eyes open, his consciousness swimming back from the depths of a pleasure-induced blackout. His body was still tingling, his tiny cocklet soft and spent against his thigh, the sheets beneath him damp with sweat and his own release. Now he was awake again, propped against the arm of the couch, and the scene unfolding in front of him made his breath catch in his throat.
Freddy was on his knees between Kota's spread thighs. The shorter femboy had shed every trace of his earlier shyness, every stutter and nervous glance replaced by a hungry, almost playful confidence that seemed to have emerged the moment he got his hands on a real, massive cock. His dark brown hair was a mess, falling over his flushed face as he worked Kota's thick shaft with both hands and his eager mouth, spit dripping down his chin in shiny rivulets. The wet, obscene sounds of his sucking filled the dressing room, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, his lips stretched wide around the impossible girth.
This was not the same Freddy who had stammered and blushed on stage. This was a femboy who had been waiting years for exactly this opportunity, and he was making the most of every single second.
He pulled off with a wet pop, strings of thick saliva connecting his swollen lips to the glistening head of Kota's cock. He grinned up at Kota with sparkling eyes, completely unashamed, and pressed the heavy shaft against the side of his own cheek. The thick length rested there, veins pulsing visibly, the tip reaching past his ear. Freddy puffed out his other cheek and giggled, the sound light and genuinely amused.
"Ima chipmunk," he announced, his voice muffled by the cock pressed against his face.
Kota let out a surprised laugh, the sound rough and low. "You're something, alright."
Freddy winked and dove back down, taking the entire thick head back into his mouth with renewed enthusiasm. His tongue worked the underside, swirling and pressing, while his hands stroked what he couldn't fit down his throat. The gluck gluck gluck sounds grew faster, wetter, more desperate. He was showing off now, clearly proud of how much he could take, and the sight of his confidence was almost as hot as the actual blowjob.
Kota's hands tangled in Freddy's dark brown hair, fingers gripping the messy strands tight. He started thrusting upward, hips snapping forward as he face fucked the smaller femboy with deep, powerful strokes. Freddy's throat opened for him beautifully, the tight, wet heat swallowing inch after thick inch as Kota drove deeper.
The sounds turned frantic, gluck gluck gluck gluck, Freddy's hands clutching at Kota's thighs for support while tears streamed down his flushed cheeks.
"Fuck," Kota groaned, the pressure building fast and hot in his heavy balls. Freddy's throat was perfect, tight and rippling, milking him with every desperate swallow. The constant suction, the eager tongue, the way Freddy moaned around the shaft like he was tasting the best thing in the world, it was all too much.
Kota's hips jerked, his grip tightened, and he came hard down Freddy's throat with a deep, guttural groan.
Thick, heavy ropes of cum flooded Freddy's mouth, pulse after pulse, the volume ridiculous and overwhelming. Freddy swallowed as much as he could, his throat working visibly around the pulsing shaft, but it was too much.
Cum leaked from the corners of his stretched lips, dripping down his chin in thick white rivulets. His eyes rolled back, and with a soft, muffled whimper, he slid off Kota's cock and collapsed sideways onto the floor, completely passed out from the sheer intensity of it all. His chest rose and fell steadily, a blissed out smile on his cum streaked face, one hand still loosely curled near his mouth like he was dreaming about sucking more.
Kota sighed, looking down at the unconscious femboy on the floor. "Every single time," he muttered, though there was no real frustration in his voice.
He stood up, his spent cock still heavy and glistening, and walked over to the small bathroom attached to the dressing room. The light flickered on, casting harsh fluorescent glare over a cramped sink and a cracked mirror. He grabbed a handful of paper towels, wet them under the tap, and cleaned himself up as best he could. The cool water felt good against his overheated skin. He wiped down his cock, his balls, his thighs, then tossed the towels in the overflowing trash can.
He pulled his clothes back on slowly, the gray slacks sliding over his hips, the black button-up hanging open over his chest. He didn't bother buttoning it all the way. The venue was still hot as hell, and he was done pretending to be presentable. He was just a manager for a band of nobodies, after all. Nobody was looking at him.
He turned toward the door, ready to head back to the Pure Despair green room and wait out the rest of their set. His hand was on the door handle when Dillyn scrambled to his feet and rushed across the room.
"Wait!" Dillyn's voice cracked with urgency. He was still naked, the strap on harness long discarded on the floor, his tiny cocklet soft against his thigh. He grabbed his phone from the cluttered makeup table and shoved it toward Kota with trembling hands. "Please. Please give me your number. I need it. Please."
Kota raised an eyebrow, looking down at the phone being thrust at him. "You need it?"
"Yes. I need it. Please." Dillyn's rock star composure was completely gone now. He looked young and desperate and maybe a little bit awed.
"I've never seen anything like that before. Never felt anything like what you did with your fingers. And your cock... Freddy passed out. He actually passed out. I need to be able to contact you. For... for reasons. Important reasons. Please."
Kota sighed, the sound long and exhausted, but he took the phone anyway. His thumbs moved across the screen, typing in his number and saving it under a simple "Kota" with no emojis or flair. He handed the phone back to Dillyn, who clutched it to his bare chest like it was a winning lottery ticket.
"Thank you," Dillyn breathed, his dark eyes wide and sincere. "Seriously. Thank you so much. And are you sureeee you don't want to be my manager? I could make you famous. I could make you rich. You could come on tour with me. Every city. Every show. Backstage passes for life. You'd never have to deal with those Pure Despair losers again. Just say the word and it's yours."
Kota shook his head, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not interested. But thanks for the offer."
He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway, the cooler air of the corridor washing over him. Behind him, Dillyn was still standing there naked, phone pressed to his heart, staring after Kota like he had just watched a miracle walk out of the room. Freddy was still passed out on the floor, snoring softly, a puddle of drool and cum forming on the concrete beside his cheek.
Kota shut the door with a quiet click and walked back down the hallway toward the sound of distant bass and screaming guitars. The concert was still going. He had maybe twenty minutes left before Pure Despair finished their set and the real afterparty began.