Spit

A bar. Probably in a basement. Dark. Intimate. A slightly sleazy feel to it. A small stage in the corner. The kind of place I’d spend hours in when I was younger and life revolved around live music.

The bar is past its best and quieter than it used to be. Tiny venues like this don’t appeal to artists or punters anymore. But tonight there is an audience and there’s the familiar crackle of anticipation found in any crowd before a live performance.

You. On stage, blindfolded, on your knees. Your cock hardens under the eyes of a roomful of strangers you’ll never see. You’re ready for tonight’s performance too.

Spit.

Sinful Sunday

13 thoughts on “Spit

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