Berlin, Germany
The crowd’s cheering and screaming hadn’t ceased throughout the entire concert. Local law enforcement and security struggled to hold the line as the crowd surged closer to the edge of the stage, crushing the people in front. As Immortal Beloved played the last few notes under the lead singer’s powerful, clear vocals, the screams became more ecstatic. Hysterical even. The predominantly female attendees wept, but not in pain. It was ecstasy.
Tristan Thorn, the lead singer, drove them to this frenzy. Tristan was a Rock God. He possessed Jim Morrison’s raw, hypnotic qualities yet he was otherworldly and ethereal ala David Bowie. Lusciously full lips, mesmerizing bedroom eyes framed by chiseled features. Though a bit feminine looking, his body was lean and healthy, not wasted by drug use. The other band members had their charms, too, but Tristan possessed a power they could never attain.
Tristan took his solo bow first, blowing a kiss to the audience as he straightened up again. The crowd flowed back and forth in perfect rhythm with the gesture and every female exhaled a collective sigh. At last, the rest of the band took their dues, with Tristan joining them.
Once inside the greenroom, Tristan became distracted by the sight of a delectable, cute little blonde thing trying to get his attention. She drank and ate hors d’oevres to show off skills he would dearly appreciate, letting cocktail sauce drip down her hand so she could lick it off with her agile tongue. She was sweet and dirty. Tristan had made his choice.
Tristan left with the groupie right away, taking the limo back to the hotel to get the rental car. The girl spoke very little English and Tristan, no German. There was no point hanging around trying to make conversation, so he took the girl for a drive.
They raced down the nearly deserted autobahn, cool wind pouring through the open windows, ruffling his hair and cooling him somewhat. The groupie was as nasty as he’d imagined she’d be. As her mouth slipped up and down his shaft, sucking and biting lightly, Tristan allowed his mind to drift. Ironically, he thought of his wife sleeping back at the hotel. When Madison gave him head, it was different. When Madison did it, she acted as though she loved his cock the way she loved him.
Tristan adored his wife, but he really couldn’t see how anyone could expect him to give up all that free pussy. Though Madison accused and questioned him, he never denied anything, and she never left him. She had, however, developed an annoying habit of waiting up for him lately. She was restless.
“Gefällt es dir?” the groupie asked.
“Huh?” Tristan snapped back to reality.
“You like?” she said in heavily accented English.
“Oh, yes, it’s fine. Er…ja. Gefällt very much.”
She tittered a little and went back to work.
Though his cock swelled with the pending release, Tristan allowed his thoughts to drift back to his wife. Madison devoted everything she was to him, and he’d only given her his name and his money. He’d never given her his support or his loyalty, everything a good husband would have given her. He’d always known he would fail her. Even before meeting Madison—before making her his wife and loving her—he’d known he would make her miserable.
He knew now that it was time for the next phase and he was ready for what that meant now. He’d spent a great deal of time preparing for this. From here on out he would be a different man. Madison deserved that, she’d waited long enough.
Tristan pressed the car’s accelerator all the way to the floor. He heard the blast of a large truck’s horn before he wrenched the steering wheel sideways. There was a screech of tires, a loud crunching noise, and then there was nothing…
