Arielle

I wanted him. I saw him on tv, the music video playing loudly on the television. "Darling," I'd been entertaining a few friends at my home. Sexy, slender, and a mouth full of golds, my pussy does a rhythmic thump. The heartbeat below has the juices flowing. "Ooh... who is this dude?"

"Girl, that's Art."

"Damn."

"Yeah, girl. That dude is fine as hell.

"Art, huh?"

"What are you up to?"

"Get us tickets to his concert, VIP."

"What's up?"

"Bet that I can fuck him."

"Girl, you're tripping. That’s fine as hell motherfucking Art. He's a fantasy that ain't never going to happen."

"Yeah, we'll see..." I say, biting my lip, as his song "Missing you" comes on. Chocolate skin tone, he’s gorgeous as hell. His dick print’s on point, and I can imagine its length hitting the back of my throat.

Fuck, maybe she's right. I'm a dreamer, but I'm tired of dreaming. I'm tired of being me, Miss. straight and narrow. Miss. Upright, law-abiding citizen. My motto begins with, "I respect myself too much, to ever...", a song that I'm tired of singing, and Mr. Art just solidified that shit.

Watching his provocative dance moves, my mind wanders, and my fantasy plays out. It's surreal. He stands before me with a sexy smirk that softens his otherwise complex features. My hands roaming his chest drift lower, stopping at his belt. Pulling me close, his hands on my waist causes my heart to flutter, and the searing heat below makes me restless. His unwavering gaze, as his lips softly graze mine, sends a shiver of pleasure through my body, right to my sweet spot.

"Hello..." States Nia, snapping her fingers. Then, coming back to reality, I'm slightly miffed that she just intruded upon my fantasy.

"Find out where his next stop is going to be," I tell her from my perch front and center on the arm of the couch.

"Bitch, you about to do this crazy shit?

"I want him."

"Hell, I want him too, but damn..."

My devious smile works its magic on her, and she shakes her head with a small smile. "Bitch I'm in, but if he's checking for me, you better fall the fuck back. I'm not worried about him wanting her. I got this. "You're good, sis."

I'm paying for everything anyway, and if she starts to become a distraction, I'll send her ass home. "I hope you know what you're doing. Don't be leading me nowhere to get put on blast. You know he's a youngin, and I'd hate to cuss his fine ass out." Nia States.

A youngin he may be, but I only have ten years on him. “He needs a Lil seasoned cooch in his life. It tastes better." I reply, my eyes still glued to the television and his abs.

"Seasoned or not, he ain't eating it." She says, handing me a drink.

"What?"

"So says "Art," and I don't blame him. You can't just be licking everything out here.

"He's young. He has to learn to appreciate the puss to acquire the taste. The camera pans in close on his tongue, seductively licking his full lips, and I have to cross my legs. Just the thought of those lips on my lower lips causes a rogue wave of lust that moistens my pussy.

"Girl... that way. It sounds like a lot of work to me. I'm trying to fuck, not marry the man."

I’m trying to fuck too, and Arielle always gets what she wants.

ART

"Art! Art! Art!"

The crowd was hyped from the start to the end. Retiring backstage, a woman is waiting in my dressing room.

Clingy Cheri.

"How did you get back here?"

"Please, I'm your favorite. The guys know me."

I unfavorited her ass three cities ago. It's been a long tour with Cheri easing all of the tensions that life on the road brings. I brought her on board after she showed up to twelve concerts front row and backstage after every concert. She didn’t need any soft words or wooing. Cheri knew what to do, readily going to her knees without being asked. Cheri became my distraction. She only had one job and performed it well.

That is until she started to think that she was more than her position, a groupie. "Okay, I need you to leave." Her soft laughter halts my steps. "C'mon, you know that you miss me." She coos softly.

"I miss my bed, and privacy and I asked nicely."

"Art, don't... I can't sleep. It's like a part of me is missing. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

I'm tired... I can't. Automatically doing what comes naturally to her, I pull her up from her kneeling position. Taking care not to be rough with her, I know how far left that could go. I lead her to the door.

"Escort her out, please," I state to the guard standing in the hall.

"No... no... Art, please..." She pleads, resisting the guard's hold on her.

I don't even want to watch this walk of shame as she fights the guard. "Art, what did I do?" Her screams can be heard from off in the distance, echoing off the walls as she's led away.

Going back into my room, the door’s barely shut before a knock has me reopening it.

"Hey, we got the meet and greet in thirty minutes." Says Chris, the tour manager.

"Yeah," I state, removing my shirt.

"Your crew's given me their requests for the girls, was there any specific one that you liked?"

"Nah..."

"Alright."

"Aye, Cheri 's not to be let backstage anymore."

"Ouch, she isn't going to go quietly into the night. They never do."

"Let's hope," I state as he exits.

The water soothes my tired muscles as I submerge my head, letting the water rinse away all of my stress. The need to jack off is heightened with each swipe of the towel. My thoughts stray to Cheri and her soft lips. The warmth of her mouth, as she greedily gobbled my dick whole on many occasions. Damn, I should have let her have one more go at it.

NIA

Arielle's a pain. If and that's a big IF, Art had a type I know that her ass wouldn't be it. Miss. Prim and proper, spoiled rich bitch. My Daddy likes them hood and wild like me.

I know that her ass is looking for something that he's not. He wants the puss no strings attached, and you have to be a baddie, or his ass ain't biting. She's a bad bitch, but she ain't badder than me. Five-foot-six, dark chocolate skin tone, slim waist, sexy hips, and an “Ashanti” booty. My Peruvian lace front’s on fleek. I’m a barbie come to life.

"Bitches stay hating," I state, blowing kisses at the mirror as I do a body check. My mid-day "gassing up" is interrupted by Emilie, the resident snitch at work. "Hey, Emmy," I say, washing my hands. The last thing that I need is for her to go run tell some shit about employees utilizing company time for primping.

"Hi..."

"Nia."

Bitch you know me.

"Nia..."

"Watson," I state, with as much reservedness that I can muster up.

"I'll make sure to remember that." She says with a smile before entering a stall. That bitch is fake as fuck.

I met Arielle at a Dru concert. We were both selected for a little after-show get-down. And did we get down... Well, the other females and I did. Drinks and weed galore— it turned into an orgy. His boys were bending bitches over couches and tables. Peasants caught up in the glam of it all, all inhibitions were forgotten. It was just her and I standing all alone, as we'd both come for the main act, the Celebrity.

My one true triumph over her, Dru, chose me. Smiling an "I can't believe it" award-winning smile over my shoulder at her, he led me to a private area. I knew that we would be besties. Females are more competitive than men, and I just outshined her ass. So -keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

And that's precisely what she did... The bitch even offered me a job at her father's prestigious advertising agency. I was an apprentice at a shabby salon with old mammy-made bitches for clients. So... I accepted the job offer. It was a receptionist job, and the pay was more than what I was making shampooing and sweeping floors.

As a bonus, I attended parties with the well-to-do's and established some lucrative relationships. A Lexus, jewelry, clothing, and shoes, with name tags such as Dior, Gucci, Louis Vuitton... I wrangle as much gratuity as I can for my services. I have access to rich suits with a taste for "destitute" coochie, females willing to do any and everything for the all mighty dollar. Being her bestie has its perks.

My phone vibrating, I duck into the men's room, making sure that it's clear before answering.

"Hey girl, what's up?"

"Did you get the tickets?"

“Yes, and booked the flight... hotel reservations, transportation..." I rattle off. The downside of this frenemy-ship is that I sometimes end up being her assistant.

"You are so awesome!"

"Yeah, I know, but there's a hiccup."

"What?"

"This spur of the moment groupie career doesn't work well with my work schedule. My time off request was denied."

"Oh, that's no problem, girl, I got you."

"Thanks," I say lamely.

Another notch under her belt, Daddy will do anything his princess asks, and hiring a temp spur of the moment so that I can compete in his daughter’s groupie competition is no problem.

"Girl, I gotta go!" I state as a man enters the restroom.

"Sorry..." I whisper, sidestepping him.

ARIELLE

The man is even more beautiful in person. He’s on stage performing for his adoring fans. But something's not right. His persona is off. I'm looking at a conservatively dressed, cultured man. What happened to the dude in the videos and interviews that served as my research. An In-depth look into my soon-to-be conquest's life and personality. Where’s the sex-crazed, young man who'll cuss a bitch out if she oversteps, that hoodness that I crave.

Where the fuck is he at?

And that's exactly what I asked Nia's ass on the way to the meet and greet. "Girl, those videos are like four-plus years old. The man is a man now... he's grown."

"I flew out "Chere" for "Boy George"?" I ask, mocking his accent. The chicks in the back of us let loose a few giggles at my sneering.

"Hey, are you ladies interested in coming backstage with Art and his friends?" A security guard asks.

"Hell no," I state, agitated.

"Hell yes." Corrects Nia, politely taking the offered backstage passes, with the other thirsty chicks behind us following her lead.

"After the meet and greet, meet me over there." He says, pointing the way.

"Oh my god, girl, he's about to get the best head of his life." Says one of the thirst buckets behind us,

Bitch bye.

I'm so done. I want to get this over with—Nia's bantering on about some work-related incident. Like, I want to hear that shit right now when in walks the man of the hour.

Sexy as sin "Art," there’s more than a few uncontrolled OMG's, followed by ear-splitting shrieks as he waves and smiles at his fans. We get autographed albums and selfies with him, which I could care less about. But, of course, my rival's doing a selfie check, and I am not about to be eclipsed by her again.

Perking up, as we draw closer to his table, we're being moved along at a fast pace. I make a note of the way that he's interacting with his fans. Humble, appreciative, caring, genuine, soft... What the fuck did I miss? Oh well, it is what it is. This won't be the first time that I've ridden a bi-curious guy's dick.

Nia turns into a full-blown prostitute when it's her turn, flirting and bending low, pushing her titties all up in his face. Twisting and turning, she showcases her wares. Holding tightly to him as he takes a picture with her, I want to snatch her bald.

Did this bitch just slip him her number?

Hip bumping her out of the way, she quickly takes her album, giving me a nasty look.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you." He says automatically.

"Nice to meet you too. I'm Arielle." I say sweetly, shaking his hand.

Those seductive brown eyes watching me, I feel naked. Damn. It’s gotten hot in here all of a sudden.

"I'm your newest biggest fan."

"Oh, you just jumped on board the Art fan club?"

"Yeah, you have an amazing voice. I don't know how I missed you."

"Thank you." He says, blushing.

Oh, hell nawl!

"I'll take my album now," I say, with a barely concealed grimace. Then, thanking him, I accept a quick, awkward hug before the next girl takes my place.

ART

There's a lot of sexy women in here tonight. It’s a sea of beautiful rich brown and honey caramel tones. Each one with a hint of lust in their eyes, some tainted with desperation, but one... Arielle, hers held disgust.

Amazing, I had to touch her even if it was a quick unwanted embrace. It didn’t last long. She ended it swiftly, allowing the next girl in line to step up. Somehow I was rejected by a five-foot-seven, cafe au lait colored, umber-eyed goddess.

Her luscious sexy frame pressed so close to mine sends a jolt to my dick, which I quickly put a cap on. I’m not that pressed for pussy, and I definitely can't be standing here in a room full of my fans with my dick standing at attention.

I didn’t expect to see her backstage with my homies. A groupie, chatting up my homeboy Quan. She's playing with fire with that one. He's reckless. I've had to send him packing a couple of times for getting physical with the ladies. His friendship is starting to cost too much—hush money paid out so that I wouldn't get sued.

Negative attention that I don't need or want. Dude is too old to be acting like pussy’s new to him. It doesn't take long for him to disappoint. Taking her hand, he places it on his dick, forcing her to grope him. Her attempts to reclaim her hand fails. They'll do what you want. You have to have some tack. I want her, and so I don my cape and personify "Captain Save A Hoe."

"Thanks, that was nice of you, but I could have handled him."

Oh okay...

"He's just um... different, does his own thing."

"I understand. I have friends that don't know how to act either." She says, watching the sexy chocolate drop that was with her earlier. She's in trouble, too—taking her friend's place on Quan's lap. I hope that I don't have to save her ass also.

"How good of a friend is she?"

"Besties."

Man... damn! I might have to loosen ol' boy's jaw, plucking two bitches from him back to back. I know that it's going to be a showdown.

I learned a few things from her while the after-show ritual got started. She comes from money, and what she's trying to be, she's definitely not it. Her friend, on the other hand, now she's what I used to love, women who thought how I did, spontaneously. You want me, and I want you, let's get it.

A real groupie will fuck the stagehands or guards to get backstage, like Cheri. Arielle just wants to fuck someone famous. It’s an itch that needs to be scratched every now and then. If she had caught me in my earlier years, I would have gladly scratched the hell out of it, but now I'm on a whole different level.

I like her, and I can't deny what my body is obviously stating. But I'm not ready for anything serious, and I'm tired of meaningless sex. I've overdosed on that shit. It's about work and finding me, who I am. I don't need any more interferences. I need someone who'll... Come to think of it, that sounds like a good title for a new song, "Take this journey with me."

"I'm sorry, but I have to go. It was nice meeting you." I state, leaving her with the group.

NIA

Quan's my type, straight ghetto. Not hood, but GHETTO... there's a difference. Hood, you can take out into polite society, they know how to behave. Ghetto, honey... motherfuckers savages in and out of the bedroom. I've dealt with his type before. That aggressive nature makes the punpun leak.

But getting the shit fucked out of me and then getting choked down to one knee because he woke up wanting some head, and I declined, ain't worth it. His hand’s raised, and I get one horrified glance at that open palm before it sweeps across my face. He must come from the "smack a bitch" tribe because I swear that I had an out-of-body experience.

I should have opted out when I saw him doing lines of powder. That shit makes you psycho, for real. I left with him to hook up in a hotel, and damn do I regret it. Gasping for air, I try to fight him off, which makes him even madder. Another slap upside the head, and he releases me. Dizzy, I drop to the floor in a lump.

Standing over me, a phone buzzes, drawing his attention. He answers it, and I take the opportunity to flee. Seeing my flight, he gives chase. Apparently, life or death situations make one a track star. I literally flew out of that room and down the hall, butt booty bald naked. Thank God that I was still rocking my lace front because I would have made for an even crazier sight with a wig cap and no clothes.

A maid, witness to the whole thing, gives me a towel and pulls me into a room, locking the door. His relentless banging escalates my fear as I collapse on the floor in tears. It's that bitch's fault. This shit was her idea!

But the bitch had my back. She had her people get in contact with Art’s people. This was a side that I've never seen before.

I knew what it was when she walked into the meeting decked out in a tennis outfit, visor on and all. Ol' girl came in swinging like she was at Wrigley Field. Art peeped that shit from the jump. He was the closest to her and managed to get into a tug-o-war with her over the baseball bat.

Pandemonium reigns supreme in the room as the men attempt to subdue Quan. I tried to get at him, and security had to be called. A few "bitches, hoes," and "fuck-nig" words" strewn about, it takes about fifteen minutes to settle the situation. Finally, we're calm, and everyone's reseated at the table, watching Art shake his head.

"How much do you want?" He asks.

"Mr. Art, let us handle this." Says the lawyer.

"We can handle a few greedy hoes." Says Quan, with malice.

"We need to shut the fuck up." Art replies.

"Nig..."

A pointed look at security and he shuts that shit down, real quick-like.

Daddy!!! Now back to what we want...

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