A Song Called Cunt

 

I was sitting staring at the screen, absent-mindedly chewing the end of a strand of my red hair when the Features Editor wandered over.

“Jackie, have you heard of K-Pop?”

I grinned at him. “Well yeah, but I don’t think that’s exactly my scene. I think I hit puberty about, oooh, fifteen years ago.”

He smirked. “Very funny. This might be your scene though.”

He slid a press release onto my desk. One side of an A4 page, titled ‘The dark side of K-Pop.’

“They are playing at the Blue Angel tonight. I’d like a gig review and a background feature on them for Saturday’s supplement. A thousand words. Think you can manage that?”

I raised my eyes and looked at him. He shrugged and waited for me to read on. My eyes widened and my interest grew as I read about this band, Hydra. Described as the bastardised offspring of K-Pop and Punk, they were five girls, all in their early twenties, all determined to rail against the patriarchy and men in general. The lead singer, who insisted on just being called Ki, was a Korean-American who wore her heart on her sleeve, or in her lyrics anyway. Relationships, sexuality and breakups all got the Hydra treatment.

“Aye, no bother, Stevie. A thousand words by Friday morning.”

I was drying my hair that evening after a quick shower, wearing only a towel when my girlfriend wandered into the bedroom. She came up behind me and wrapped her arms around me, pressed herself against my ass and tugged the towel open. She ran a hand over my breast and rolled the left nipple between finger and thumb.

“Do you have to go out?” I could feel her breath on my neck as she whispered in my ear.

“You tease,” I groaned. Arching my back as I felt her fingers slide down over my stomach, fingertips teasing the smattering of red curls covering my mound.

“Don’t you dare go and fuck any rock stars,” she giggled as her finger slipped between my folds and caressed my slit.

“Why don’t you come with me. We can have a cheeky mid-week night out on expenses.”

“On a school night? You must be joking.”

And with that, she left the room, sucking her finger and waving bye bye to head downstairs for a night of correcting Year 12 History essays.

I liked to dress to fit in so I pulled on a pair of fishnet holdups, zipped up my denim mini skirt and pulled on a white tee shirt. I gave my hair one last ruffle in the mirror before pulling on my leather jacket, lacing up my DMs and heading out.

“Don’t wake me up feeling all drunk and amorous at three in the morning.”

“No, dear. I won’t, dear.” I called back, grinning as I shut the front door behind me.

------

I’d been writing for the Edinburgh Times since I’d finished college five years previously. I’d worked my way up and loved the freedom that the Features Desk gave me to review gigs, exhibitions, plays and movies. I still got a vicarious kick out of flashing my press pass and saying I was on the guest list as I breezed past queues, not to mention the rush every time I saw my name in print.

I arrived just as the support act was coming off stage. The Blue Angel was an intimate concert venue, holding a few hundred people. I felt the blast of heat from hundreds of hot sweaty bodies as I turned the corner from the cloakroom. The room was full and I felt a sudden unease that I was late for the ‘Dark side of K-Pop’ party. The crowd was mixed but seemed to be predominantly students. After all, who else could afford to go out every night of the week?

I got myself a bottle of beer and perched on a barstool which gave me a view of the stage and the crowd. When reviewing a gig, I liked to watch and get a feel for the audience as much as the band. The sense of anticipation was palpable. I turned to a guy beside me and asked if he knew much about the band. It turned out he was a student and he thought they were getting pretty popular and getting a lot of online coverage. This was the second night of their first UK tour, having played Newcastle the night before.

I was just about to ask him what the attraction was when the lights went down and the crowd at the front of the hall started cheering. In the semi-darkness, I could see shapes moving on stage. The dry ice machine started up and the stage lights came up and the crowd went wild.

Four girls stood on stage, all dressed in an assortment of leather and lace. Dyed hair, shaved sides and heavy goth punk makeup. They were a classic five-piece of drums, bass, rhythm and lead guitars but the singer was missing and the mike stand stood empty.

The crowd stamped their feet and clapped. The tempo was rising, building to a crescendo. The stage lights flashed twice and with a thunderclap, the lead singer, Ki walked on stage.

She looked as if she’d taken a wrong turn and was in the wrong place. She was petite with long black hair and was wearing a baseball jacket and hot pants, over the knee socks and a pair of converse boots.

She stood swaying slightly in front of the microphone as she looked at the crowd, a sneer on her lips.

“Hello, you bunch of fuckers. Do you want to hear a song about my ex-girlfriend?”

She grinned as she surveyed the crowd. Her eyes sparkled under the heavy kohl makeup.

She thrust out her hand, middle finger pointing down. “Can you hear me?”

She nodded her head in time to the cheering of the crowd.

“Do you want me to turn it up?”

The crowd cheered louder.

As she rotated her hand and gave the crowd the finger, the band behind her launched into a cacophony of sound.

“You’re a runt, you’re a grunt, you’re a fucking cunt!

You’re a skunk, you’re a drunk, you’re a fucking cunt!”

I grinned as I watched the crowd jump and dance. A few guys launched themselves into the air, crowd surfing away from the stage. The bouncers looked at each other and shrugged as a line formed for the crowd to throw themselves from the stage as Ki screamed into the microphone.

“I pull you by the hair, I fuck you down the stairs,

You beg and howl and swear, but I know ‘bout the affair”

The crowd, as one, seemed to know the chorus and I watched slightly awed as hundreds of people sang in unison, “You’re a cunt! You’re a cunt! You’re just a fucking cunt!”

Ki prowled around the stage as if she owned it. The other four band members were all very pretty but reminded me of the backing band for the Robert Palmer video ‘Addicted to love’. Four pretty girls who were there just to provide extra eye candy though, in reality, all eyes were on Ki.

As Ki ground herself against the microphone stand, writhing her hips as if she was fucking it, I shook my head in wonder at the words and actions coming from this pristine looking, doe-eyed Korean pin-up.

The song ended. Ki bowed politely and meekly said, “That song was called Cunt.”

Immediately, the band started again and when the house lights finally came on an hour and a half later, the whole venue seemed mentally and physically exhausted.

I got a couple of extra soundbites from the crowd as they shuffled towards the exit before knocking my beer back and heading backstage. I flashed my press card at the security and told them I was with The Times and was there to interview Ki.

“Nae bother, hen. Follow me.”

I was led backstage and after the security guy had stuck his head inside the door, I was invited to go on in.

Up close, Ki was stunningly beautiful and I felt myself gasp slightly when she turned her head and smiled politely at me.

Ki had removed the baseball jacket midway through the third song and up close, the little black bralette allowed a clear view of her nipples through the sheer material. She was rubbing her hair with a towel and I had a momentary flashback of my girlfriend earlier as I dried my hair. I felt my knickers dampen and had to silently scold myself not to get distracted and that I was here to write.

She dropped the towel and opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. She handed it to me.

“Do you want one? It’s on the rider.” She shrugged. “Or I could get someone to get you a coffee?”

“Beer will be great, thanks.” I swiftly answered. She handed the bottle to me. It seemed she was almost reluctant to let go as our fingers brushed, or maybe I was just imagining it or projecting something.

She sat down on a chair and indicated for me to sit on the sofa opposite.

“So, what would you like to know, Miss…?” She paused, an eyebrow raised.

“Jackie. Jackie Johnston.”

“OK, Miss Jackie, what would you like to know.”

Fuck, hearing her say the words ‘Miss Jackie’ had me pressing my thighs together. I took a swig of beer to hide my blush and buy some seconds.

I lowered the bottle and thought, ‘I may as well start at the deep end.’

“I always thought K-Pop was pretty girls in nice dresses singing pop songs for tweens. Your songs wouldn’t appear to be aimed at the same audience?”

She threw her head back and laughed. Then looked straight at me, deadpan and licked her tongue over first her top then her bottom lip. I felt myself biting my bottom lip in response.

“Well Miss Jackie, I like to think we are the bastard offspring, the result of the night Punk slammed K-Pop up against the wall, claimed her as his bitch and fucked her brains out.”

She paused, watching the red light flashing on the dictaphone on the coffee table between us.

“You know, most journalists just record on their phone these days.”

I shrugged.

“I’m old school. So would you call yourselves pretty girls playing at punk then?”

I don’t know why I was goading her. I knew she’s spent a number of years in America but she still has the accent and intonation of Korea and her answers sounded so polite and measured despite the content.

“Didn’t you hear the lyrics? Our songs are about empowering women and girls to claim their rights. Not to spread their legs for the first dick that comes along.”

She stood up again and paced around the room.

“Our songs are about the right to say ‘NO!’ when some decrepit septuagenarian tries to grab them by the pussy. To say I am worth as much or more than a man.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. The movement seemed flirtatious and so incongruous with her passionate speech.

“Sure we are pretty girls, but are you saying that only the ugly girls can demand those things? Give some of them some rights but keep the pretty ones tied to the bed? Is that what we should be singing about? Fuck that shit.”

I blushed under her gaze as she finished the speech with her face inches from mine. Her almond-shaped eyes were hazel and I felt I could drown in the deep dark pupils as she held my gaze. She looked so pretty. Her skin was the colour of ivory with olive undertones. She grinned, stood up straight, knocked back the rest of the bottle and reached for another.

This time, as she handed a bottle to me, she definitely allowed her fingers to slide along my hand. I watched her turn, her ass looked so good in those tight little shorts. The black over-the-knee stockings just added to the allure.

“Anyway, Cunt is a love song.”

She shrugged as she saw the look of incredulity on my face.

“A.. a love song? I don’t think I’ve ever pulled my girlfriend’s hair as I’ve fucked her down the stairs.”

She giggled again and stood up, stepped closer to me and held my gaze.

“Maybe you should. Do you love your girlfriend?”

I blushed. Fuck, this girl oozed sexuality. I knew I should break the gaze, look away but it was as if I was hypnotised. I swallowed.

“I… I think so.” I stuttered.

She sat on my lap. Her legs straddled my thighs as she put her arms around my neck.

“I thought I loved my girlfriend too.”

Ki’s ivory skin was flawless. Her almond-shaped eyes were so exotic. I’d always had a thing for Asian girls and Ki was probably the most beautiful woman I’d been this close to.

Her lips were inches from mine. She ran her fingers through my long red hair.

“I love your hair. You are so Scottish looking with your red hair, green eyes, pale skin and freckled face.”

I swallowed. Almost without thinking, I found my hands on the outside of her hips, my thumbs tracing the seam of the hot pants. I could feel my nipples hardening under my bra as I watched this exotic beauty play with my hair.

And then she kissed me. It was as easy as that. My defences were down and she just waltzed right in and kissed me. Her tongue flickered on my bottom lip as she moved her lips over mine.

She pushed the leather jacket from my shoulders and I let my arms drop to allow the leather to fall off me. As I raised my hands again, she tugged at the hem of my tee-shirt and pulled it up.

This woman was as aggressive sexually as her lyrics indicated. She saw what she wanted and took it, took me. With my tee-shirt dumped on the floor, she gripped my red hair with one hand and tugged it. My head snapped back, exposing my neck to her. She moved her mouth to trace a line of wet kisses along my jaw and down my throat. As she kissed the freckles on my shoulder, she whispered how she loved them.

“We strive for flawless skin, but yours is so beautiful.” Her fingertips swirled over the freckles, almost like she was following a map before sliding the lacey black bra strap from my shoulder.

I reached behind and unclasped my bra, letting her slide it from my arms. The two marshmallow pink tips were rock hard, even before the cool air hit them. I saw her lick her lips, her eyes looked up, holding my gaze as she ran her carefully manicured hand over my breast. The thumb brushed the dimples on the areola. I couldn't have stopped the groan escaping my lips, even if I had tried. I watched as her head leant in, the tongue flickering over my nipple like a snake before she sucked it into her mouth.

I bit my lip. My chest squirmed as she suckled. I could feel her teeth grazing the nipple as it sent the hot-wired signals directly to my dripping cunt. One hand pawed at my breast, the nipple was rolled and tugged between her finger and thumb as she sucked and nibbled the other nipple. My hands reached around to stroke her back, feeling how soft and smooth her skin was.

I tugged her bralette up and she gasped with excitement as I ran my fingers over her nipples. Proud, firm and brown, I licked my lips as my hands caressed them.

She slithered out of my grasp and dropped to her knees in front of me. She looked up. My cunt oozed another bucketful into my already soaked knickers at the sight of her big eyes gazing up at me.

“I want to see a Scottish cunt,” she whispered. “Have you curls?”

I swallowed and managed to croak, “Yes.”

“Show me.” Her eyes sparkled and she licked her lips as I slowly stood up, unzipped my skirt and let it fall to my ankles. My purple cotton panties were soaked. I knew she could see the shape of my lips through the sodden material.

She leant forward, not breaking eye contact and gazed up at me as she stuck her tongue out and ran it over the wet cotton. Her fingers gripped the elastic and slowly unpeeled them. She sat back on her heels and lowered her gaze as my sodden curls were revealed to her.

She gasped then looked up at me, grinning. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Her fingers softly stroked my curls, tugging on the ginger pubes. “I’ve never had a ginger cunt before.”

Her hands guided me by the hips to sit on the sofa again. My legs spread automatically as she leant in, her thumbs spreading lips already slick with juices. I felt her breath blow along my folds. Her thumb pushed my hood back just as her breath swept over it. My clit shivered and the jolt that hit my core sent a moan from my lips. The tip of her tongue followed the same path as her breath. She wriggled and moved her head from side to side as she traced my slit before she flicked my clit with the tip of my tongue.

She dragged the flat of her tongue along my slit from perineum to clit. I felt her rasping licks, greedily slurping my juices out of my wet velvet hole. After four, five or six slurping licks, she rolled her tongue into a tube and pushed it inside me like a tiny cock.

Her face was pressed against me, Her nose rubbed my clit as she rolled her head from side to side, her tongue curled, pressing, tasting my wet velvet as she forced it inside me.

Fingers gripped my arse, spreading my cheeks as she pulled me into her. She was greedy, wanting more and more of me in her mouth. Her lips mashed and moved over me as she ate me out, french kissing my sodden wet cunt as she brought me closer and closer.

My fingers scrabbled about, clutching at her long black silky hair, gripping it, tugging it, pulling it as she face-fucked me.

She crossed her fingers like a corkscrew and, as she moved her lips to suck my clit into her mouth, she thrust her fingers into me. The crossed fingers stretched my wet velvet. The knuckles of her slim pointed fingers rubbed against my walls.

She fucked me. The sound of squelching filled the room, mixed in with my pants and moans, followed by a howl as my orgasm broke over me. I shuddered, bucked and moaned as I came all over her face. My walls gripped her fingers deep inside me. I felt her fingers flutter and I collapsed back onto the sofa as she gave my clit a final kiss before climbing up to kiss me.

Our tongues swirled as I tasted myself on her lips. Her face glistened with my cum. Her eyes sparkled as she whispered, "I love the taste of your Scottish cunt."

She stood up, wriggled her hotpants down and straddled me. I could feel her smear her juices on my stomach as I lay on the sofa. Her black pubes were trimmed into a neat little triangle and she had the neatest little pussy. Her labia were wet and swollen.

I ran my fingers over her thigh, comparing the contrasts in tone between her ivory, olive skin and my pasty Scottish white with a hint of pale blue. And then, all I could see was her beautifully hairy cunt as she shuffled up the sofa and pressed herself into my face.

She was so turned on already. My nostrils were full of her scent. Her lips and thighs were smeared with her honey and I greedily inhaled. Then all sight was gone. Her mound pressed against me, her hairs rubbing against my nose as she ground her dripping wet cunt onto my face.

She used me, rode me, used my face to get herself off. Her fingers gripped my hair, a bunch in each hand, pulling my face deeper into me as she bucked and jerked. She called me a slut and a whore, told me how I was a cheating bitch eating her cunt while my girlfriend waited at home.

All I could do was push my tongue inside her, tongue fuck her as she told me what a dirty little whore I was. The name calling and degradation seemed to excite so much.  My nose was rubbed raw against her curls. I could feel my face and chin were being soaked in her juices. Suddenly, she grabbed my hair tighter and pulled my face hard against her. She froze rigid and came all over my face.

Finally, after what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, she giggled and pushed herself off me, using the back of the sofa as leverage. I lay there, my fingers tentatively smearing her cum over the red raw skin of my nose and lips that had been rubbed against her hairs.

She swiftly pulled on her hotpants and bralette again, returning to the demure looking girl I’d seen walk onto the stage, the one before she opened her mouth and revealed what a deliciously dirty girl she really was.

As I reached for my clothes, she tidied the room and picked up my dictaphone, the red light still blinking. She smiled and blushed.

“You might want to keep that tape a secret after you’ve transcribed the interview.”

Dressed again, I took the dictaphone from her hand.

“Thank you,” I whispered as I kissed her softly on the lips.

As I leant in for a second kiss, she smiled again and put her hand on my chest to stop me.

“Go home and tell your girlfriend you love her.”

I nodded, collected my jacket and headed for the door, wondering how I was going to get a thousand words written by Friday.

(c) DeviantSusie 2021. All rights reserved.