Excerpt for Backstage Party: Male Model Fuckfest by Lilith Kinke, available in its entirety at Smashwords

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BACKSTAGE PARTY: MALE MODEL FUCKFEST



By

Lilith Kinke




SMASHWORDS EDITION



* * * * *



PUBLISHED BY:

Lilith Kinke on Smashwords



Backstage Party: Male Model Fuckfest

Copyright © 2012 by Lilith Kinke


*****

Smashwords Edition, License Notes


This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.



*****


“You nervous?” the guy next to me said, fidgeting with his clothes.

Of course I was nervous. It was my first big show. I had been working out for weeks, and on a strict diet that left me feeling weak, but I looked gorgeous. Then again, we all looked gorgeous, being models and all. Part of the price to pay for being a superstar, I told myself. I worked hard to get where I was. But I was secretly jealous of the naturally beautiful ones, like David, who must have been named after the statue.

I glanced at him now. He was going last in line, a coveted spot devoted to the designer’s most striking piece. His abs looked like stone, and his jawline was to die for. He was taller even than most the models, and there wasn’t a man under six feet tall walking the runway. I felt my dick stir a little as I imagined running my hands all over that back and ass. I could see his ass peeking out from the elaborate outfit he wore.

The boys all fidgeted, chatting about this or that they had seen during fashion week. But I was thinking about David. He was hot, and perfectly my type. It felt kind of like a schoolboy crush, where my heart fluttered a little bit every time his head started to turn my way. But I couldn’t daydream for too long, the lights and audience was waiting.

“You’re next!” a woman with a clipboard and headset motioned over at me.

I stepped into place, letting one of the stylists pin one last pieces of my suit into place.

The music was a pounding techno and it was soon my turn to step out into the glaring lights. I strutted down the runway towards the media pit. I felt each step hit the runway in my catwalk stride. There must have been a thousand cameras pointed at me, but I didn’t feel nervous anymore, just confident. I knew my cheekbones looked killer today, enhanced by crazy makeup. I arranged my features into a perfect pout at the angles I knew would look best. The cameras loved me.

When I got backstage, the other models were already undressed and high-fived me. I stripped off my clothes carefully and handed them to the stylists. Everyone looked amazing, and I caught a glimpse of chest here and ass there as we all changed into the next outfits.

“Clench that ass,” one of the models was saying to other one, “it makes you look way better in that designer outfit.”

I saw him palm the other model’s asscheek, squeezing to show what he meant. Gulp. I tried to think back about the show. Can’t go down the runway with a hard-on, I had to repeat to myself. What a mantra. I started to giggle to myself, but stopped when the stagehands motioned me forward again.

I focused back on the runway but this time down, I kept thinking about what was waiting backstage. I would try to look sexy for the cameras, then an image of a hand cupping his ass would pop up in my mind and I’d have to fight off arousal. I had to imagine our local republican senator being intimate with his wife before I could successfully fight it off. Then I felt a little like puking, but walked off fine. Well, no one had seemed to notice. That was it! My first show over, and it felt good.

“Do you want to keep your makeup?” one of the makeup artists asked, ready with a cloth to wipe off.

“Yes,” I shouted over the music. I gave her a grin as I danced walked off to the model room backstage, high on the moment.

The other models motioned me over and handed me a drink.

“Nice job out there today!” one guy complimented me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“Not bad for a new boy,” said David, from across the room.

Was it just me, or did his glance linger just a little long? I didn’t have much time to think it over before more thumping music came on, and another guy pulled me over to dance. Club music was some of my favorite music to dance to, and I shifted to the music, just having crazy fun. By my fourth drink, I had danced with half the room. By my eighth, the whole room, except David.


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