summery : after a high-energy concert, nat corners you in the backstage dressing room, forcing you to play her favorite guitar riffs on your lap while she slowly rides your g!p length with a lit cigarette in hand. the low vibrations of the wood and your relentless thrusting drive her to a frantic, shaking climax that leaves you both completely spent on the couch.

pairings : groupie!nat x rockstar!gp!reader

warnings : groupie nat, g!p reader, musician reader, guitar play sex, vibrations, cigarette smoking, public venue backstage, dirty talk, light breath play, skin marking, heavy friction, intense riding, wet over-stimulation, tight clench, flooded release, full mutual consent

tags : @v1oletberryk1ss @likesomethingidk @musicbrainer

The backstage dressing room smelled like burnt tobacco, spilled whiskey, and the metallic tang of leather amps. The roar of the sold-out stadium was still ringing in your ears, your fingertips calloused and throbbing from two hours of shredding on stage, but Nat wasn't giving you a single second to catch your breath.

She was already on top of you before you even had time to take the guitar strap off.

Sitting astride your lap on the worn leather couch, Nat struck a match, the small flame illuminating her dark, heavy-lidded eyes and the flush rising on her cheeks. She lit her cigarette, took a slow, deep drag, and blew a thin stream of gray smoke right into your face, a dirty, challenge of a smirk pulling at her lips.

"Play it," she commanded, her voice raspy from screaming your name from the front row all night. Her hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head, her nails dragging down your chest to leave red trails in their wake. "You know which one. My favorite."

You chuckled low, the heavy weight of your g!p length already aching against the tight denim of your jeans as she rolled her hips over you, feeling every solid inch of you through the fabric. "Which one, Nat? I played twenty songs out there."

"The riff in the second verse of the encore," she breathed out, taking another long drag before holding the cigarette between her index and middle finger. With her other hand, she reached down and unbuckled your belt with practiced, frantic speed. "The dirty one. The one you look right at me when you play."

She didn't wait for your answer. Nat unzipped your jeans and reached inside, her bare, ringed fingers wrapping tight around your hard, aching length. You let out a low growl, your head snapping back against the leather cushion as her warm, slick thumb stroked right over the head of your shaft. She was already dripping wet, her own denim shorts discarded on the floor, leaving her bare thighs gripping your hips.

Guiding you right to her entrance, Nat lifted herself up just enough to align you. She took one last drag of her cigarette, exhaling the smoke over her shoulder, and slammed herself down onto you in one smooth, agonizingly slow drop.

" Fuck—" you hissed, your hands flying to her hips to steady her as your full length sank deep into her scorching, soaking heat.

Nat let out a shaky, desperate gasp, her back arching as her inner walls clamped down around you like a vice. The sheer tightness of her made your teeth grid together, your jaw clenching as you fought the urge to just thrust up and take total control. But Nat was in charge tonight. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours, her hot breath smelling faintly of menthol and sweet bourbon.

"Play," she whispered against your mouth, her hips starting a slow, rolling grind against your pelvis, sliding up and down your shaft just enough to drive you both out of your minds. "Keep your hands on the wood, rockstar."

With a ragged breath, you reached over to the floor and grabbed your custom Gibson, lifting it over your shoulder and letting it rest flat across your lap, pinned between your stomach and her waist. Your calloused fingers found the fretboard automatically, tapping out the heavy, bluesy riff she loved so much. The unplugged electric guitar hummed quietly against your chests, acoustic vibrations traveling directly through the wood and straight into both of your bodies.

Nat groaned loudly at the feeling, the low vibration of the strings echoing right through her core. She picked up her pace, lifting herself up until just the head of your length was left inside her before plunging all the way back down, her tight walls rolling over you in relentless, wet friction.

"God, yes," she whimpered, ash falling onto the armrest as she rode you, her head thrown back, exposing the long column of her throat. Her hips worked in a rhythm that matched the steady, dirty strumming of your fingers, every flick of your pick making her squeeze around you twice as hard.

You kept the riff going, your left hand flying up and down the neck of the guitar while your right hand picked the strings, forcing yourself to focus on the music while Nat used your cock like her own personal playground. She was relentless—grinding down hard, her thighs trembling against your ribs, sucking you in deeper with every hard slide of her hips.

She took another slow drag, the cherry glowing bright red in the dim lighting, before bringing the cigarette down to hover just above your chest, teasing you with the heat as she bounced heavily on your lap.

"Look at you," she rasped out, her voice dripping with pure satisfaction as she watched your eyes glaze over with lust. "Such a good little guitar player... fucking me while you play my song..."

"Nat, you're gonna make me lose it if you keep rolling your hips like that," you gritted out, the tempo of the song speeding up against your will as your blood pounded in your ears. The slick, wet squelch of her body riding you was nearly drowning out the quiet hum of the strings.

"Don't you dare stop," she demanded, her hands coming down to press against your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she slammed her weight down onto you again and again, taking every single inch of you, stretching herself over your length until you were both slick with sweat and gasping for air.

Nat lifted herself up just a fraction higher, her body slick and dripping, the wet sound of her sliding against you filling the small dressing room over the unplugged hum of your guitar. In the dim backstage light, every line of her was raw and exposed. She was stretched so impossibly wide around your thick, g!p length that her pale skin was flushed dark pink, her inner lips swollen and glistening with her own heavy arousal.

Every time she slammed back down onto your lap, the thick, clear slick coating her core squelched loudly, running down the length of your shaft and pooling against your thighs. Her clit was hard and dark red, exposed and rubbing directly against the base of your pelvic bone with every dirty, rolling grind of her hips. It was driving her out of her mind—her walls were so soaked and hot that they felt like velvet velvet silk squeezing down around you, clutching your shaft in tight, rhythmic spasms that made your knuckles turn white on the neck of the Gibson.

She dragged herself all the way up until the wide, sensitive head of your length almost slipped out completely, letting you feel the slick, hot folds of her entrance fluttering against the tip before she buried you all the way to the hilt again with a wet, breathless gasp.

"God, you feel so fucking big inside me," she whined, the cigarette held loosely between her lips now, gray smoke drifting up between your faces as she ground her core hard into yours, rubbing her swollen clit relentlessly against you while you kept the riff rolling under her heavy, wet rhythm.

Your fingers flexed on the fretboard, shifting the tempo into a dirtier, heavier rhythm that resonated right through the body of the guitar and straight into Nat’s pelvis. The low vibration sent another sharp wave of tension right through her core, making her gasp and tilt her head back against the leather sofa.

"Fuck—right there," she rasped out, her voice breaking. She took one last, long drag of the cigarette, the tip burning a fierce orange, before carelessly dropping it into a half-empty glass of whiskey on the table beside you. The ember died with a tiny, quiet hiss.

Now completely empty-handed, Nat dug her nails into your shoulders, using the leverage to pull herself up and drop down with zero mercy. She was taking you fast and shallow now, a frantic, desperate rhythm that made her inner walls clench around you like a fist. The friction was unbearable—slick, blistering heat friction dragging over the head of your length, every wet thrust forcing out a heavy, guttural groan from deep in your chest.

You couldn't help it; your left hand dropped off the guitar neck, letting the instrument rest loosely against your hip as your palm slammed flat against her lower back, pulling her down impossibly tighter against you.

"Thought you were supposed to keep playing, rockstar," Nat teased through a ragged breath, though her own eyes were blown wide, her chest heaving as her swollen clit ground hard against your pelvis with every slide.

"Hard to focus when you're squeezing me this tight, Nat," you gritted out, snapping your hips up to meet her down-stroke, burying yourself all the way into her soaking, velvet depths until her knees shook against your sides.

"Don't you dare slow down," she whimpered, her hands flying to the back of your neck, tugging your head up to slam her mouth over yours. The kiss was taste-heavy with bourbon and menthol, messy and full of tongue, completely drowning out the quiet buzzing of the amp in the background as she rode you toward the edge.

Nat let out a wet, broken sound into your neck as you slammed up into her, her inner walls clamping down so hard around your shaft it almost brought you to your knees. She leaned back, resting her hands flat on your chest to keep her balance, her eyes dark and heavy as she looked down at you.

"Look at you," she breathed, her voice dropping into a dirty, raspy whisper that made your skin sting. "Taking up so much room inside me... fucking me right off the stage like I'm nothing."

She lifted her hips just enough to draw you out to the very tip, watching the slick sheen on your length catch the dim room light before she drove herself back down, burying you to the root in one hard, agonizingly slow press.

"You feel so fucking thick," she whined, her nails digging deep into your shoulders as her core trembled around you. "Every time you hit that spot, it makes my legs go weak. I swear you're trying to ruin me."

"You came back here asking for it, Nat," you gritted out, your hand gripping the back of her thigh, holding her still so you could grind your hips up against her swollen, soaking clit. "You wanted this so bad you couldn't even wait for me to take the strap off."

"Because I wanted your cock," she gasped out, throwing her head back as you rubbed right over her most sensitive spot, her walls pulsing violently against your length. "I wanted to feel you stretching me out until I couldn't think straight. Fuck... work it inside me just like that. Don't stop. Fill me up."

The steady, wet slide of her body over yours was rapidly devolving into a frantic, uncalibrated mess of skin, sweat, and breath. Nat couldn't keep her rhythm smooth anymore; her thighs were shaking so hard against your ribs that every downward drop of her hips was heavy, uninhibited, and completely desperate.

"I'm close," she gasped, her knuckles turning white where her hands gripped your shoulders, her nails biting deep through your skin. Her inner walls were fluttering in fast, involuntary ripples around your length, soaking every inch of your shaft in scorching, slippery heat. "Fuck, you're so deep—don't stop, don't you fucking stop..."

You dropped the guitar to the floor entirely. The heavy wood clattered against the rug with a dull thud, freeing up both of your hands to wrap tight around Nat’s waist. You locked her down against your pelvis, completely eliminating any space left between you, and started driving up from the couch with relentless, brutal force.

Every single thrust slammed your hips flush against her swollen clit, the slick squelch of your bodies meeting echoing loudly through the small, enclosed space.

"Look at me," you gritted out, your teeth locked tight as the coil in your gut pulled into a sharp, painful point.

Nat forced her eyes open, her dark pupils completely blown out, heavy-lidded and glossy with pure pleasure. The sight of her—ruined, shaking, and completely open on your lap—was the absolute final thread holding back your restraint.

She let out a high, broken scream as her climax ripped right through her. Her internal muscles clamped down like a vise around your length, squeezing you so hard, so tight, that it felt like she was wringing every drop of control straight out of you. She bucked wildly against you, her head thrown back, her throat flushed red as her body gave into wave after wave of intense, uncontrollable spasms.

The crushing tightness of her core was too much to hold against. With a low, guttural growl buried in the crook of her neck, you snapped your hips up one last time, driving in as deep as your body could physically go, and completely surrendered.

Your length pulsed hard inside her, flooding her scorching depths with your warm release as your own climax crashed through you, shaking your entire chest and leaving your legs weak. You held her pinned tight against you, riding out the long, heavy surges of your orgasm together while her walls continued to twitch and milk every stroke out of you.

For minutes afterward, neither of you moved. The only sounds in the room were your ragged, heavy breaths hitting the quiet space, mixing with the distant, muffled hum of the venue outside.

Nat collapsed forward, her heavy chest heaving as she rested her forehead against your chest, completely spent. Her arms fell limp around your neck, her skin slick with sweat and sticking to yours. Slowly, your hands slid up her back, your fingers tracing the line of her spine in lazy, slow strokes as the overwhelming heat between your lower bodies began to cool into a heavy, comfortable warmth.

"Jesus," Nat rasped out softly, her voice barely a whisper into your skin, a faint, dazed laugh bubbling up in her chest.

day four: big walk and funky pub

outfit: h&m top, walking gear