Corey stripped off his clothes faster than should have been humanly possible. The baggy gray jeans hit the floor in a crumpled heap, followed by his shirt, and suddenly he was standing there completely naked in the middle of the dressing room, his plump pale ass on full display, his tiny cocklet already half hard and twitching against his smooth thigh. His white hair was wild and messy from the performance, and his eyes sparkled with that familiar, insatiable hunger.
"Toby! Get over here!" he called out, already reaching for the soft, curvy drummer.
Toby barely had time to squeak out a protest before Corey's hands were on him, yanking his tight black leggings down over his plush thighs. The fabric caught on the swell of his massive ass, and Corey had to give an extra hard tug that made Toby stumble forward with a startled moan.
"Corey! What are you doing? The door isn't even closed yet—someone could walk in—ahh!"
"Mort, close the door," Corey said over his shoulder, completely ignoring Toby's protests as he pulled the leggings free and tossed them aside. Toby stood there in nothing but his socks, his soft, curvy body exposed, his freckled cheeks burning bright red. His tiny cocklet was already stiffening, betraying his embarrassment.
Mort kicked the door shut with more force than necessary, the wood slamming against the frame. "You have exactly thirty seconds to explain why I'm standing in a room full of naked idiots when I should be packing up my gear."
Corey ignored him entirely. He walked up to Kota, still completely naked, his hips swaying with every step, and planted his hands on his own plump hips.
"Alright, cutie. How do you want to do this? You want my mouth? My ass? You in the mood to finger me open slow while I moan your name? Or maybe..." He turned around, bending forward slightly to present his pale, jiggling cheeks toward Kota.
"Maybe you want to eat my ass? I've been told it's delicious. Five star reviews across the board."
Kota rolled his eyes, his hand still wrapped loosely around his thick, half hard cock. "Shut up, Corey."
But he was already stripping anyway, pulling his black shirt over his head and letting his gray slacks fall to the floor. His body was still warm from the earlier encounters, the musky scent of sweat and sex clinging to his dark skin. His cock swung heavily between his legs, thick and veiny even when soft, the weight of it drawing every eye in the room.
Toby walked up to him shyly, his soft thighs brushing together, his hands clasped in front of his chest like he was praying. His ginger hair fell in messy waves around his flushed face, and his big, watery eyes looked up at Kota with pure, desperate hope.
"Kota? Was I... was I a good boy during the show? I tried really hard. I didn't mess up the tempo. I remembered all my fills. Corey said the crowd loved me but I don't know if he was just being nice because he's Corey and he says lots of things and—"
Kota reached out and placed a hand on Toby's shoulder, cutting off the spiral. "I heard some of it. You did pretty good, Toby. Really."
Toby's entire face lit up like the sun had just broken through clouds. His freckles seemed to glow. "Really? You mean it? I did good? I was a good boy?"
"Yeah. You were a good boy."
"Can I... can I be rewarded? Please? I've been thinking about it all night. About you. About being full. About being your good boy again." His voice dropped to that tiny, trembling whisper that made Kota's cock twitch and swell.
Kota smiled, his thumb rubbing a slow circle on Toby's shoulder. "Sure. You've earned i—"
"WAIT!" Corey's voice cut through the room like a foghorn. He slapped his own forehead dramatically, the sound echoing off the walls. "
The meet and greet! I almost forgot! I promised the fans! Five lucky fans get to fuck Toby and five get to fuck me! They're probably lined up outside right now!"
Mort pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it looked painful. "You cannot be serious."
"I'm completely serious! This is our first real show, Morty. We can't flake on our fans. That's how you get a bad reputation. Bad reputations mean no more gigs. No more gigs means no more money. No more money means we go back to eating instant noodles and living in a shoebox apartment."
"Fine," Mort said through gritted teeth. "But I'm not participating. I'm not signing anything. I'm not letting anyone touch me."
"You don't have to. You just have to sit there and look pretty. Or angry. Same thing with you."
Within minutes, Corey had somehow materialized a long folding table from a storage closet and set it up in the venue's side hallway. The band sat behind it, Kota quickly zipping up his pants and trying to look like he hadn't just been about to have a foursome. Corey, on the other hand, remained completely naked, sitting in his chair with his legs spread wide, his tiny cocklet on full display, his plump ass pressed against the cheap plastic seat.
About twenty fans lined up behind the table, their eyes wide and hungry. Most of them were still buzzing from the show, their faces flushed, their own massive asses barely contained in tight shorts and ripped jeans.
The first fan stepped up, a nervous looking femboy with dyed pink hair and a lip piercing. He was clutching a marker in his trembling hand, but when he reached Corey, he put it down. "Actually... I don't want you to sign my shirt. Or my poster. I want you to sign my face."
Corey's grin widened. "Sure thing, cutie. Where's the pen?"
The fan gulped, his cheeks flushing bright red. "I don't... I don't want you to use a pen. I want my face to be signed with... with your cum."
Corey's eyes sparkled with pure delight. He stood up from his chair, grabbed the fan by the wrist, and started dragging him toward the nearby bathroom.
"Now THAT'S what I call a fan. Mort, take over. I'll be back in a few."
The bathroom door clicked shut. What followed was about ninety seconds of muffled, obscene sounds. Wet, desperate glucking noises echoed through the thin door, mixed with the fan's high pitched, broken moaning. "OH FUCK—YOUR COCK—AHHH—COREY—I'M GONNA—GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK—YESSSSS!" The unmistakable sound of a body slumping against a wall followed, then silence.
Corey emerged wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking extremely pleased with himself. The fan stumbled out a moment later, his face absolutely glazed with thick white streaks of cum, painted across his cheeks, his nose, his lips. He was grinning like he'd just won the lottery as he staggered away.
Mort took Corey's place at the table, his arms crossed, his death stare at full power. Another fan stepped up, a lanky femboy with visible nervous energy who kept glancing around like he was about to commit a crime. "Um, hi, Mort? I was wondering... do you have any used clothing from any of the band members? Preferably underwear? Or maybe used condoms? I'll pay extra."
Mort's eye twitched. His knuckles went white where he was gripping his own arms. "Get the fuck out of my sight before I break your fingers."
"I'll pay ANYTHING! PLEASE! I've been collecting band memorabilia for years! I have Gideon's old setlist! I have a guitar pick Corey threw into the crowd! I NEED this! PLEASE!" The fan dropped to his knees, literally begging, his hands clasped together.
Toby, sitting beside Mort, felt his heart break a little. He slipped off his chair and hurried back to the dressing room. When he returned, he was holding a pair of plain gray boxers, neatly folded.
"Um, excuse me? I have these. They're not worn or anything, I'm really sorry, they're fresh out of the package so they probably don't smell like me at all and I know that's the whole point but I feel really bad that Mort yelled at you and I wanted to help. Please don't be disappointed. And please come to our next show. I'll make sure to wear some ahead of time so they're... you know... authentic."
The fan took the boxers like they were made of gold. The entire line of waiting fans erupted into cheers. "TOBY! TOBY! TOBY IS SO PURE! WE LOVE TOBY!"
Mort tisked loudly, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle was jumping in his cheek. "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever been a part of. And I was in a sex cult"