What do you think of the rock star lifestyle? he said. Im sure its lovely, I said sarcastically. Getting any action? he said with a raised eyebrow and that twinkle. None of your business, I said and felt myself blush. Oh, but come on, Dee, he said. I could feel him looking at me and I felt weirdly hot and self-conscious. I want you to have fun.

Two hours later I was in my street clothes in the back of a car, being driven to the airport. Id packed my cat off to my mums, dumped a bunch of clothes in a suitcase, grabbed Saulniers Repertoire de la Cuisine off the bookshelf and crammed it into my jacket pocket, and now I was wondering what this new life as a rock bands caterer was going to be like. When you are as famous as this band, you dont travel on public transport. I was not surprised to find that they had their own jet.

I like it, although its not as exciting as cooking in a really good restaurant on a busy night, when your whites end up soaked in sweat and you come away with a few extra burns on your already scarred and blistered hands, and you end up getting drunk with the other guys, exhausted but triumphant, and maybe even having a quick sympathy fuck...okay, okay, that last bit doesnt happen very often, but it does happen occasionally. The catering gig is relatively low-pressure. Most of the pressure is about making sure that everything is what the client wants, which does not necessarily mean that its what the client asked for. Most clients do not know what they want.

When my sobbing died down a bit, he wiped my face with his hand and whispered into my ear. You know, he said, its just possible that somebody might fancy you. Ever think of that? It doesnt happen very often, I muttered, and sniffed. He handed me a dishcloth and I wiped my nose. But were all beautiful, Dee, he purred. I know Im a boring old hippy, but we are. Everyone is.

Admit it, Dee, he said cheerfully, admit you want it, admit you want to be a messy little fuckslut, just say yes, love, go on... No! I yelped, and then I could feel the slippery head of his cock between the tops of my thighs, and just the prospect of being about to fucked was making me almost insane with shameful desire. Admit it, he said, forcing my head down closer to the surface. It was inches away. I was standing naked, facing the counter, my hands on either side of the bowl trying to

I dont know if you are going to find this story sexy. I have read a lot of the stories on this site, and I notice that most of them are about fantasy women - hot blondesredheads with DD breasts and great bodies who, in that great throwaway phrase that conceals so much effort, keep themselves in great shape. Most women are not like that. Most of us are not happy with how we look. Most of us are unsatisfied. Most of us are never going to be the fantasy women that most men dream about - and, guys,