The Making of a Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter Eleven

Bobby took Constance home before driving Misty to Hutchinson. On the way she'd felt like moving over to sit next to him, like Constance had. She wondered what his hand would feel like, resting negligently on her thigh. She didn't do it, of course ... but she thought about it.

It got her worked up for the rehearsal.

She pried more songs out of Jasper and did ask him if she could play around with some of his compositions, when she got back to Nashville. His Adam's apple bobbed so much that she was afraid Bobby might be right about the coronary, but he didn't die. Instead he handed her a sheaf of paper. She promised him he'd get rights to the music, and royalties too, if she recorded it.

That got the band worked up.

They broke for supper but, for once, Misty wasn't hungry. She was too keyed up. She sat, sipping a 7-Up in a little barbeque shack, while Bobby ate pulled pork. On the way back to the fairgrounds Misty felt jittery. The crowd was already loud when they got back. It was still an hour and fifteen minutes until showtime.

Back stage Misty stood in the shadows of the bandstand with Bobby, while people checked cables, and ran sound checks and did all the things that make a concert work. She wasn't nervous about the show, but she still felt jittery.

"Do I get another massage tonight?" she asked suddenly.

Bobby looked at her, his face unreadable.

"That might not be a good idea."

"Why not?" she asked.

"I like you a lot more now than when we first met," he said.

"Oh." She didn't know what else to say.

"I didn't really want to leave last night," he added.

"I see," she said. Her stomach did flip flops. She knew it wasn't stage fright, even though it felt exactly like that.

Amanda appeared.

"There you are! It's almost time."

"We'll be right there," said Bobby.

Amanda hurried off.

"Would you do something for me before I go on?" asked Misty suddenly.

"Sure ... what?"

"Kiss me."

"Kiss you."

"Yes, kiss me."

"What's this all about?" he asked.

"Will you do it or not?"

The concert that night could only be described as a blowout success. There were more people there than would fit into the area reserved for spectators. The seats were full an hour before the concert started. The area around them was packed soon after. People sat or stood on top of cars in the parking lot, so they could see.

The kiss she had gotten had almost been a bad idea, as it turned out. When Bobby had kissed her, he'd given her the same thing he gave every other woman he decided to kiss. She was wearing the tank top, sans bra, and the very short skirt she had borrowed from Felicity. She'd decided to wear that just because Felicity had been kind enough to loan it to her. Her own performance clothing was still in the suitcase, back at the farm. When Bobby kissed her, and her breasts were crushed against his chest, his hands went under the skirt and cupped her butt cheeks, pulling her up. She ended up with her arms around his neck and, a minute later, when he withdrew the support of his hands, her knees buckled and she almost went down.

Never in her entire life had she been kissed like that.

She wobbled for five feet, with his strong hand gripping her elbow, before her knees began to work again. She was still panting as she mounted the stage and the crowd started a swelling roar that threatened to blow her back off the stage. Jasper, Rocky and Lucy stood, waiting, grinning from ear to ear. Janie sat hunched on the seat at the keyboard, flushed and wild-eyed.

But, when she picked up her guitar, as the announcer said her name, everything was okay. The blast of the crowd fed her energy, and she bounded to the front of the stage to the microphone.

"Hello hutch!" she screamed into the mike. "Are you ready to party?"

Then she turned, to flash a manic grin at Jasper, stamped her foot four times, and they were off to the races.

Bobby stood on the ground behind the bandstand. Amanda had her arm around him and was leaning against him. She had to yell into his ear to be heard.

"I wish I'd have thought to have a truckload of her albums shipped out here," she yelled. "We could have sold every one of them!"

"She's good," Bobby yelled back.

"She's fantastic!" screamed Amanda.

Later, when Misty asked the crowd to quiet down, so she could sing them a love song, it was as if she had control of their voices. She crooned into the microphone, and there was a hush as all the lights went off except for the spotlight on her. She swayed her hips and almost ate the microphone as she made every man in the audience believe she was singing only to him. The women hated her and loved her at the same time.

Amanda hugged Bobby closer. She didn't need to yell now.

"I need you in the worst way right now," she sighed, leaning into him. "You want to make another baby with me?"

He squeezed her back.

"One isn't enough?"

"She makes me want to have a dozen," said Amanda, reaching up for a quick kiss.

"Not in public, Amanda!" growled Rodney, from behind them.

It went long, but nobody cared. The band wanted to play all night, but they finally ran out of steam after an extra half hour of concert. They'd given it everything they had.

Oddly, the crowd was also subdued when it was over. There was an atmosphere that suggested thoughtfulness, rather than wild emotion. Maybe they were worn out from screaming and clapping too.

In any case, the lines of people clutching pictures were more sedate. People chatted while in line, waiting for their chance to get Misty Compton's autograph on the picture KDEF had provided free of charge to so many people. There would be another thousand listeners to KDEF in the weeks to come. Such a little thing, combined with the singer's willingness to stay and sign her name over and over again, when she was clearly exhausted, meant a lot to people.

No one wanted to go out that night. Everybody was tired. Two of Lucy's fingertips were actually bleeding where she had pressed through the calluses on them because they'd played so long and so hard. Of them all, Janie was the most radiant. At seventeen, she had just done something she'd remember for the rest of her life, whether she ever got to play in front of a crowd again, or not. She'd been terrified all three nights, but that would never happen again. People were asking her for her autograph. They all lined up with Misty, and shook hands. Somebody came up with more markers, and people gladly asked them to sign Misty's picture with her.

Amanda broke down when it was all over. She'd had a lot riding on this, and the release of tension left her limp and sobbing. Rodney put her in his car and drove her home.

Finally Misty dragged her feet to the truck and put her guitar carefully in it. Then she took it back out, got in, and pulled it in again, putting it on the floor in front of the passenger seat. When Bobby got in, she leaned against him.

She dozed on the way back, and never felt his hand on her thigh.

"Wake up!"

Misty jerked awake. It was dark and the truck's engine was off. She was pressed against something that felt solid, but was warm and soft at the same time.

"I don't want to," she mumbled.

"Don't make me carry you in the house."

It was Bobby.

"Why not?"

"Cause I'll cop a feel, that's why." She smiled at the smile she could hear in his voice. She didn't believe him.

"No you wouldn't."

"Yes I would."

She felt his hand on her bare knee, and felt it begin moving upward, between her legs. She clamped her knees together instinctively, trapping the hand. It moved another inch or two, letting her know she wasn't strong enough to stop it, and then stopped on its own.

"Okay, okay," she said, giving up.

She sat up and, in the process, her knees came apart. The hand moved another two inches, fully onto her inner thigh now and, as she sucked in a breath, was removed.

A wave of cold air wafted into the cab as he opened the door and stepped out, leaving her sitting in the middle of the bench seat. Rather than trying to get out of her own side, she pulled her guitar up onto the seat and scooted over, past the steering wheel. She felt the warmth he had left on the seat on the back of her thighs as her skirt bunched up.

"It's cold," she complained, shivering as her feet hit the ground. She felt her nipples stiffen. She pulled her guitar case out and hugged it.

"Don't be such a baby," he said. "It will be warm in the house."

It was warm. It was also dark.

"Where is everybody?" she asked.

"Probably already in bed." She felt his hand in the middle of her back, propelling her through the kitchen. "Where you need to be."

He took her to her room in the dark, pulling her along because he knew the way and she wasn't familiar with the house in the dark. He turned on the reading lamp beside the bed.

"You were good tonight," he said, taking her guitar case from her and standing it up against the wall.

The emotion she remembered from the concert rushed back and washed all over her and her eyes glazed over slightly.

"It was magical," she sighed. "It's never been like that."

"You were good," he said again.

Her eyes cleared and she looked at his. He was looking at her chest. It was only the second time he'd ever done that, at least that she'd noticed. She looked down to see her nipples spiked under the tank top. On impulse she reached for the hem of the shirt and pulled it up and off her body.

"What are you doing?" His voice was husky.

"Getting ready for bed," she said, not moving. She watched his eyes devour her breasts and felt the delicious warmth in her belly that told her she was going to have to rub again tonight. "Why? Do you want to help me?"

"I told you that's not a good idea," he said.

"Oh," she said, reaching for the clasp of her skirt. She didn't want to bend over, because she couldn't look at those eyes if she did that, so she let the skirt drop. It landed with a soft rustle around her feet. She realized she was still wearing the boots, and felt silly standing there in only cowboy boots and panties.

Stepping out of the circle of the skirt, she moved to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. She tried taking a boot off, but it was stuck to her sweaty foot. Since the boot wouldn't move she stood and pushed her panties down to her knees. It was obvious they wouldn't go over the boots unless she stretched them out of shape. Now she felt even sillier. She pulled them back up, but couldn't look at Bobby any more. She felt like she might cry.

"Give me a foot," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

She stuck one foot out in the air and saw his knees appear next to the boot. His hands came and grasped the back of the heel. They lifted and her tight muscles in her thigh and hip complained. She flopped back onto the bed, one foot high in his hands, and the other limp and hanging from her knee at the edge of the bed.

"You don't do this a lot, do you?" he asked casually as he started pulling on the boot.

"Do what?"

"Try to seduce a man."

She thought that was a mean thing to say, even though his voice wasn't mean.

"I'm not trying to seduce you." Her voice sounded pouty, even to her.

He didn't say anything. The boot slid past her heel and was suddenly loose. He pulled it off and caught her sock-attired foot before it dropped. He moved it to the side, spreading her legs and she saw his eyes go to her panties. He kept her that way while he pulled the sock off, inside-out.

She lifted the other foot and stuck the boot in his face. He worked on it without saying anything else, but his eyes were on her body. When he got that one off, she lay there, not knowing what to do. He pulled her up, turned back the covers and then pushed her gently back down onto the bed where she lay, half on and half off until he picked up her feet and moved them onto the bed.

When his hands went to the waistband of her panties, she held her breath. Her body assisted him without conscious thought as her leg muscles tightened to lift her hips a little. He moved the cloth slowly down her legs and past her feet. He tossed the panties negligently on the floor and stood, looking at her.

His hands went to his shirt front and began undoing buttons.

Misty Compton, like most women, was a complex bundle of sometimes conflicting parts. She was a mountain girl, first and foremost, at least in her own mind. Fame and fortune, such as it was up to that point in her life, hadn't changed the way she thought of herself. It had changed her lifestyle, and habits, and even her personality, to some degree, but she still thought of herself as just Misty Compton, from Hog Holler ... a normal girl ... who was having a run of pretty good luck.

In reality, Misty was much more than just another girl from Hog Holler. She was a complicated mix of innocence and experience, a wide-eyed young woman who was going places and seeing things that other girls from small towns would never see and experience. Her capabilities in some areas would serve her well all her life, but that life had been short, thus far, and there were a lot of areas in which she had very little experience and undeveloped capabilities.

Sex was one of those areas.

She was caught in a shadowy world in which she knew some things that were true, believed some things that were not true, and had no Earthly idea of what to think about a lot of other things.

She knew, for example, that Bobby Dalton was getting undressed, and that this signaled that she was going to have sex. She believed she was prepared for that eventuality, because, right then and there, she wanted to have sex too.

But she had no idea how all that was going to turn out, and didn't really know what to expect, either from Bobby, or her own body. As such, she wasn't really thinking, exactly, about what was going on. She was just reacting to the situation as best she could.

What all that evolved into, that night in Florence's old room, was a situation in which things happened much like an avalanche, that starts with the movement of a few flakes of snow, and gathers momentum in such a way that nothing can stop it except the forces of Mother Nature herself.

It was Bobby's fingers on the buttons of his shirt that were the flakes of snow that overburdened the snow pack, so to speak, in the room. Up until that moment, there had been an equilibrium, of sorts. But, as his chest was bared, things started happening inside Misty's brain and body that signaled the avalanche to come. Her pulse increased. Fluids were produced and injected into her vaginal canal. Her nipples stiffened even more, and became painfully sensitive.

Like an avalanche, there was no movement at first. She couldn't speak. She was frozen in that moment of time as his chest was revealed. His hands went to his belt next and her eyes glittered like crystal snowflakes as his pants were opened. Slowly, and yet so quickly it was like magic, the man in the picture she'd seen on Cristy's bedroom wall appeared before her astonished eyes.

Like the snow that lies there, already fallen thick, Misty lay there, unable to move or do anything to affect what was going to happen. She was just waiting, not knowing what to expect. When he moved, she knew he was going to do ... something ... but she had no idea what that was. Before she could react, he was on the bed. Her knees were in his grip and were spread wide. Before she could adjust to the fact that she was completely exposed to him, his face was between her thighs, where no man's face had ever been. Something warm and wet and softly stiff was pushing inside her.

The "Uungh!" that ripped from her lungs and exploded past her lips was completely unconscious, as was the jerk of her hips as muscles she wasn't controlling thrust her pussy against his face. His face shook between her legs, like a dog shaking a rag he has just pulled from his master's hand, and his lips strummed her clitty.

"Eeeeeee!" she squealed, and then was out of air. Her lungs automatically dragged in more, expanding until his head stopped shaking and his lips gave all their attention to sucking her clit. Electric jolts flashed from her clit, like rays of sunlight stabbing into the rest of her body and she half sat up, holding that position and staring at his head, between her thighs, until her stomach muscles gave up and she flopped back down onto her back. Her breath rushed out, and then rushed back in.

She lay there, being jolted and shaken by the exquisite sensations, and then felt a trail of warmth and wet run up her belly. She lifted her head to see his hair advancing toward her face. His head stopped at her breasts and she gasped as his lips sucked first at one, and then at the other of her aching nipples. Her cousin hadn't done this. He'd squeezed her breasts and pinched them a few times, but was too eager to get on to the main event. The sweet sensations of his strong sucks made her want to cry out, but she didn't have enough breath to do so.

Then his face was above hers, and his blue eyes were staring down at her wide brown ones.

"I'm sorry," he panted. "I'll do better next time, but you're making me crazy."

She was trying to figure out what that meant when she felt pressure in her groin. It was a strange pressure ... different than anything she'd ever felt before. With shock, a part of her mind realized what was happening. But it had hurt before, and this was different. This didn't hurt. She raised her head and looked down, to see that long hard thing that had been sticking out of his groin. Except now it was sticking out of her groin. No ... it was connecting their two groins ... a thick pink rod of flesh that left his nest of black hairs, and went to her nest of blond ones. Her brain had just registered that only the tip of his penis was in her when the column disappeared and his black curly hairs mixed with her blond ones, right before her eyes.

She had been stretched before. Now she was stuffed. Like she had eaten too much, she felt too full. But it was that contented kind of fullness ... the kind that wants you to lie down and undo your pants to give your full belly a little more room. Her legs moved wider apart of their own volition, perhaps in an attempt to make some room for the invader.

She felt his weight hit her groin ... all of his weight ... and she felt her body being pushed upward on the bed. His chest went to the right, then up a little further, and then to her left and, in that second, her clitty was squashed flat and the tip of his prick prodded her cervix.

Misty Compton saw stars. Her eyes were wide open, as was her mouth, but her vision failed her as bright lights exploded silently right in front of her face. Something ripped away from where all that pressure was, and exploded out into her body. Dimly, her brain recognized it as an orgasm, but it wasn't anything like the orgasms she had experienced with her own fingers. Those orgasms were centered on that little lump of flesh, that wiggled and squeaked as she came with her fingers rubbing. This orgasm was a bear, roaring, its paws lashing out at the rest of her body and slashing it with claws that felt fantastic, instead of ripping her apart. She wondered how it was possible to float, in a sea of warm water, while being mauled so deliciously by that bear.

The sea drained slowly away, and the bear withdrew into its den, and she realized that there was an earthquake going on. She was shaking. The bed was shaking. Her body was jerking back and forth, up and down. She opened her eyes and realized it was Bobby who was moving, lunging back and forth. She felt his penis leaving her and then rushing back in, his hips withdrawing and then thrusting back toward her to slam into her. Each time he slammed into her, her clitty let out a little silent shriek of joy. The fullness had receded. Now it was like she had eaten exactly enough ... was pleasantly full ... as long as nothing left to leave her empty again.

"Don't stop!" she panted.

Now she felt tired muscles. Her arms were around him, trying to hug him to her, but she wasn't strong enough to immobilize him. She realized her legs were wrapped around his and that she was straining to lift her loins as he pulled back. Muscles already tired were screaming at her and she suddenly went limp, to give them a rest.

His knees moved up the bed and, somehow, her butt rested on his thighs, as her hips were lifted slightly. His chest came down on hers, and his whiskery chin dug into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She felt his arms slide under her back and grip her shoulders.

Now she was helpless. She was firmly in his grip, her legs splayed wide. But it felt good to her. She was being hugged, both outside and inside. His hips suddenly increased their speed and his prick flashed in and out of her. The ridiculous image of rabbits she had seen in her aunt's back yard came to mind. She and Bobby were fucking like rabbits!

Another orgasm was there. She could already tell it wasn't the same kind as the one she'd just had. As her body shook limply with the battering it was being given that orgasm seemed to stand at the screen door, asking to come in.

"Well of course!" she said, out loud, and mentally pushed the door open.

This orgasm was full of tickles and laughter. It made her belly feel warm and made her nipples tingle delightfully. She felt wonder at the fact that she hadn't known there could even be more than one kind of orgasm.

"Ohhhhhh Misteeeeeee," came a bass groan in her ear.

His hips hunched forward one more time and he froze.

"Ahhhhhhh," he moaned and she felt his hands press hard on her back.

Suddenly her upper body was off the bed as he lifted her like she weighed nothing. His upper torso was upright, and she was pulled down onto his spike as she felt it jerk and then felt more warmth, deep inside her. When she'd lost her virginity, the boy had worn a rubber. All she remembered about that now was pain and disappointment. But this was nothing like that. As she realized that his penis was spurting in her, she felt like she was floating on a cloud again. She let her upper body relax, and her head fell back. His strong hands held her there, at a forty-five degree angle to his own body, while his prick belched again and again. She felt like a rag doll, but it was a wonderful feeling, sitting there, having to do nothing, while a ball of heat expanded in her belly. He only made it better when his head dipped and he sucked at her nipples again, while his penis gave up the last of its offering.

She felt like if this moment were frozen in time ... if they became statues that could be displayed in some museum somewhere ... she'd be happy forever.

Eventually, he lay her back down, and fell forward, catching his weight with his hands on the bed, his wrists in her armpits. She flung her own hands up and out, lying limply, supremely happy and satisfied. She'd never felt this relaxed in her whole life. The concert had been magical. This had been magical. She felt like a fairy queen.

His panting face appeared above her own and she mustered strength to lift her head, seeking his lips. He pressed her head back down with his own. This kiss wasn't like the one he'd given her last night. This one was heavy and full of something demanding. She felt like he was irresistible, in that moment. If he ever kissed her like this again, she'd do anything he asked her to.

His prick was still inside her, but she didn't feel overly full any more. It just felt comfortable, like it belonged there. He kissed her over and over again for what seemed like forever, but she didn't care. She loved the feel of his tongue and sucked at it sometimes. He moved his knees back, letting her butt back down onto the sheet.

He was hard again.

She felt it quite suddenly, as he moved it in her, still kissing her. She couldn't believe it wasn't over. She had thought it was over.

His whole demeanor slowly changed. His kisses got less demanding, and more tender. He started kissing the corners of her mouth, and then each lip. His hips started moving and she felt the movement of his penis against the walls of her pussy. She thought it felt different, but then realized that she hadn't been able to pay any real attention to that before. It was so delightful ... feeling his hardness moving within her. He pushed and made his loins go in little circles. Her clit responded instantly and another orgasm was magically there, within reach again.

"Ohhhhhhhh," she moaned into his mouth.

His face lifted from hers.

"You having fun?" he asked.

"Ohhh please don't ever stop," she moaned.

"I have to stop sometime."

"Just a little longer, pleeeease," she begged.

His pace stayed the same, with slow, measured, long strokes. Every four or five of them was punctuated by that thing he did where he pressed hard, and went in circles.

Three orgasms later, she was floating on that cloud again.

Then, without preamble, and without a sound, he pressed hard and she felt those warm spurts again, deep inside her.

It was at that moment, when Misty Compton was twenty years old, that she finally felt like a woman. She would never think of herself as a girl, ever again.

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