She should have read her performance contract. After 15 years on the scene, Ariel Bloomer of Icon For Hire thought she knew everything she could expect from a piece of paper at one of their usual gigs. She made the mistake of hastily signing, not bothering to read its new and very specific 'entertainment requirements'. If she had the time to fight it, she would have cancelled the show, apologized, refunded tickets and looked for a way out. But she was locked in, literally, with all exits shut and sealed to prevent her from backing out and an audience of hundreds waiting.
Ariel had no choice. When the lights dimmed, the curtains drew and a spotlight shone on stage left, she sighed and wriggled her pent-up frustration and anxiety loose and hopped out into the open. Cheers rang up. She smiled, waved, keenly aware of the show she had to put on as the rest of the band started into their first song.
Look kids, I got a career
Putting dumb things from my head into your ears
Her behavior was the first sign of trouble. Known for looking loud, proud, feisty and dominant, she instead affected a vacant gaze and twirled her long pink hair. In an instant, the crafted image of a feminist rebel devolved into a bimbo's cosplay of one. She pursed her lips and tried to maintain tempo while stumbling over words in her chipper tone.
Not sure what to make
When so many can relate
Make this music for my brain
But you all feel the same
Her softer, slower, slippery take on these lines was joined by her free hand sliding down to her crotch. Rubbing the outside of her pink jean shorts teased what was to come. One leg out on a stand, the other back to keep her upright, having them splayed apart gave those in the front row a great view of the action. Fumbling with the button and zipper proved harder. She was fighting time, but had to hide it, keep up the appearance of wanting and rehearsing this moment. She narrowly got her shorts down and kicked off into the crowd, whose excitement and scramble for them briefly drowned out her singing as she squatted on the stand and spread her legs. The hot spotlight drew everyone's attention from front to back dead center on her pink pantied pussy, which she very slowly unveiled.
My therapist is sick of me
So what's a girl to do?
Shove my hands inside my cunt
Tell my problems all to you
She hated that the contract gave the venue power to alter her music, but she had to accept, and it quickly became secondary in her thoughts as she exposed her hairy quim in its pink dyed glory. Until tonight, this touch of the carpet matching the drapes was a secret thrill reserved for her. Now the whole world got to see it. Broadcasts online were sending it out for posterity, with viewership undoubtedly climbing as word spread about the rebel turned bimbo putting on a show.
And I'm messed up but I'm trying to love myself
I guess my head's bad for my health
I'm stuck with me, I might as well
I'm messed up but I'm trying to love myself
At the chorus top, she pushed her fingers in her slit and rubbed. A little bump and grind with the rise and fall or her body to the rhythm added some dynamics to the show. If she had the boobs for it, they would gently flop on her chest, but her lack of them left something to be desired - something the venue made very clear they would fix if she couldn't cut loose from their contract a month from now. Her hair tousled, her chain necklace jangled, and she achieved a wet thrill by the second half as she passed into more of a true moan than the song called for.
Woah, woah, oh-oh, woah, woah, oh
Love myself
Woah, woah, oh-oh, woah, woah, oh
Love myself
Her breathing grew ragged and heavy. Words barely got through her play-acting bimbo mouth. They got too breathy to understand, too broken from the drums and guitars meant to lead them. Her heart pounded as she thrust her hips into her hand while fucking herself, very convincingly showing her sex style had she taken a man to her bed and rode him. Not that anyone was complaining. To Ariel's chagrin, this crowd had more energy from her lewd act than anything she saw at all her shows since she started this band. They wanted to see her fingerfucking herself on stage more than every audience that ever heard them play. To know her body and a porn star performance eclipsed her entire career in music would have wounded her pride if she had time to process it, but she was too busy reaching her climax, in more ways than one.
Woah, woah, oh-oh, woah, woah, oh
Love myself
Woah, woah, oh-oh, woah, woah, oh
Love myself
She rapidly sucked in air to keep up with her building lust, until in one huge, messy burst, she came. Her thighs, shoulders, everything shuddered from her full body orgasm while she gushed all over the stand and floor. The strain took its toll, weakening her muscles until she fell backward. It left her at the perfect angle to showcase her leaking pussy and the puddle it made, her soaked bush clumped together with her wetness. She could hardly move while gasping and riding it out. From her prone position, she caught an uproar of delight from the audience while her band played out the song.
The first song. Her first orgasm of the night. Despite all this one took out of her, she had another two hours to fill with filling her vag. And she was far from excited about what would happen with the other acts.
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Ariel Bloomer, Loving Herself
She should have read her performance contract. After 15 years on the scene, Ariel Bloomer of Icon For Hire thought she knew everything she could expect from a piece of paper at one of their usual gigs. She made the mistake of hastily signing, not bothering to read its new and very specific 'entertainment requirements'. If she had the time to fight it, she would have cancelled the show, apologized, refunded tickets and looked for a way out. But she was locked in, literally, with all exits shut and sealed to prevent her from backing out and an audience of hundreds waiting.
Ariel had no choice. When the lights dimmed, the curtains drew and a spotlight shone on stage left, she sighed and wriggled her pent-up frustration and anxiety loose and hopped out into the open. Cheers rang up. She smiled, waved, keenly aware of the show she had to put on as the rest of the band started into their first song.
Look kids, I got a career
Putting dumb things from my head into your ears
Her behavior was the first sign of trouble. Known for looking loud, proud, feisty and dominant, she instead affected a vacant gaze and twirled her long pink hair. In an instant, the crafted image of a feminist rebel devolved into a bimbo's cosplay of one. She pursed her lips and tried to maintain tempo while stumbling over words in her chipper tone.
Not sure what to make
When so many can relate
Make this music for my brain
But you all feel the same
Her softer, slower, slippery take on these lines was joined by her free hand sliding down to her crotch. Rubbing the outside of her pink jean shorts teased what was to come. One leg out on a stand, the other back to keep her upright, having them splayed apart gave those in the front row a great view of the action. Fumbling with the button and zipper proved harder. She was fighting time, but had to hide it, keep up the appearance of wanting and rehearsing this moment. She narrowly got her shorts down and kicked off into the crowd, whose excitement and scramble for them briefly drowned out her singing as she squatted on the stand and spread her legs. The hot spotlight drew everyone's attention from front to back dead center on her pink pantied pussy, which she very slowly unveiled.
My therapist is sick of me
So what's a girl to do?
Shove my hands inside my cunt
Tell my problems all to you
She hated that the contract gave the venue power to alter her music, but she had to accept, and it quickly became secondary in her thoughts as she exposed her hairy quim in its pink dyed glory. Until tonight, this touch of the carpet matching the drapes was a secret thrill reserved for her. Now the whole world got to see it. Broadcasts online were sending it out for posterity, with viewership undoubtedly climbing as word spread about the rebel turned bimbo putting on a show.
And I'm messed up but I'm trying to love myself
I guess my head's bad for my health
I'm stuck with me, I might as well
I'm messed up but I'm trying to love myself
At the chorus top, she pushed her fingers in her slit and rubbed. A little bump and grind with the rise and fall or her body to the rhythm added some dynamics to the show. If she had the boobs for it, they would gently flop on her chest, but her lack of them left something to be desired - something the venue made very clear they would fix if she couldn't cut loose from their contract a month from now. Her hair tousled, her chain necklace jangled, and she achieved a wet thrill by the second half as she passed into more of a true moan than the song called for.
Woah, woah, oh-oh, woah, woah, oh
Love myself
Woah, woah, oh-oh, woah, woah, oh
Love myself
Her breathing grew ragged and heavy. Words barely got through her play-acting bimbo mouth. They got too breathy to understand, too broken from the drums and guitars meant to lead them. Her heart pounded as she thrust her hips into her hand while fucking herself, very convincingly showing her sex style had she taken a man to her bed and rode him. Not that anyone was complaining. To Ariel's chagrin, this crowd had more energy from her lewd act than anything she saw at all her shows since she started this band. They wanted to see her fingerfucking herself on stage more than every audience that ever heard them play. To know her body and a porn star performance eclipsed her entire career in music would have wounded her pride if she had time to process it, but she was too busy reaching her climax, in more ways than one.
Woah, woah, oh-oh, woah, woah, oh
Love myself
Woah, woah, oh-oh, woah, woah, oh
Love myself
She rapidly sucked in air to keep up with her building lust, until in one huge, messy burst, she came. Her thighs, shoulders, everything shuddered from her full body orgasm while she gushed all over the stand and floor. The strain took its toll, weakening her muscles until she fell backward. It left her at the perfect angle to showcase her leaking pussy and the puddle it made, her soaked bush clumped together with her wetness. She could hardly move while gasping and riding it out. From her prone position, she caught an uproar of delight from the audience while her band played out the song.
The first song. Her first orgasm of the night. Despite all this one took out of her, she had another two hours to fill with filling her vag. And she was far from excited about what would happen with the other acts.