Rock Hard: Bad Boy Bandmates & Babies Series by Jamie Knight (e reader comics .TXT) 📕

what looked like a listening station. It had a comfy looking chair next to one of those old-style stereos that somehow managed to pack a turntable and two tape decks into it.

There was also a slightly newer, multi-disc CD player next to it. Though none of the equipment, aside from the computer, looked like it dated after 2000, it looked weird in a way, but I could also respect someone who knew what they liked and what worked for them.

Seth Black was definitely a 90s kid. It seemed like he’d been around for decades, which, I guess technically, he had been. Though he’d also started the earliest incarnation of Suspicious Activity as a teenager, so he could only be in his late 30’s or maybe early 40’s.

The chair creaked its welcome. There was a scent I couldn’t identify but found I quite liked. It smelled like leather mixed with something else. Something natural and masculine. I took a deep breath in, my hormones stoking like a bonfire.

I crossed my legs and squeezed. It was too late to keep my panties from getting wet, but the least I could do was try and keep him from noticing. That really wasn’t the best impression to make. I knew I was only there for an internship, at least to start. It was important that he took me seriously, rather than as a silly kid who became excited at the slightest provocation.

Particularly because I wasn’t.

I was 19 and still a virgin. In fact, it could take a lot to get me turned on. In normal circumstances, anyway. There were still triggers that I had that set me right off. Sitting down in that office had somehow magically hit all the buttons.

I hoped I wouldn’t let it slip, how much I had stalked Seth. That would be a secret I planned to take to my grave- this burning desire to know all about him and be around him, and now here I was, about to do that in person.

In the past, I’d seen lots of pictures, visiting the Suspicious Activity Records website every day. It had a live camera feed that people could watch, to see the inner workings of records being recorded.

And watch it I did. Several times, most days. No matter when I would visit the website, there he would be, like a welcoming friend. Sometimes alone but usually with some employee or another, or a member of one of the bands signed to the label.

You could almost chart the change in him. He’d started out as a producer, but as the label grew, he found himself taking on more responsibility, delegating his former tasks to producers he hired to work under him.

His hair got shorter and his clothes plainer. No longer mistakable for one of the musicians, he had become ‘The One in Charge.’ And I thought that was hot as fuck.

Even with his new levels of responsibility, though, it didn’t seem like he changed all that much in terms of his basic personality. He might have traded his plaids for polo shirts and shaved off his awesome beard, but there was still the same twinkle in his eyes, obscured as they were by thick-framed glasses, and an impish half smile in every image, be it digital or analog. (It was strange to think there could be anyone who crossed over, the digital revolution starting before I was born.)

There had always been the rumors. At least since he got famous. People said he had certain proclivities in the bedroom, which were talked about with whispers and innuendo. It was nothing awful; I’d never heard about him hurting anyone.

He could just get a bit kinky. That was something that was beginning to intrigue me more and more.

Would he ever want to do those things to me?

I could feel my cheeks burning just at the mere thought of it.

It was wildly inappropriate to think like this. He was my boss after all, but that still didn’t stop me from letting my mind wander there. I rarely did what I was told with regard to my body, never mind inside my own head. As far as I was concerned, that was sacred space no one else had any right to.

It was a sentiment that seemed to be generally shared. Otherwise, Orwell’s invention of ‘thought crime’ wouldn’t have been consistently met with such abject horror.

No, my thoughts were my own, and they were fixed on Seth Black. In an increasingly sexy context. I knew I couldn’t touch myself, but it was a difficult struggle when the daydreams started.

We were in that very office, at least in my head. I had just come in after being called by Seth, or ‘Sir,’ as I called him when addressing him directly.

“Yes, sir?” I asked in my fantasy, stopping in front of his desk as he had instructed me to.

“Come here,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir!” I enthused, going to him, my spine— and other parts of me— already tingling.

As I approached, he rolled back in his chair so I could see his lap. Not to mention his raging hard on.

I stopped short, my eyes fixed on his bulge, hoping he would let me suck his obviously big cock. But my master had something else in mind. He was lightly patting his lap in a way we both understood.

With his help, I lay across his lap, face down, his bulge pressing enticingly against my tummy. I could almost feel the throb through the material of his pants.

“Oh,” I gasped, feeling his hand on my ass, even before he’d pulled up my skirt.

Stroking me through the cloth of my skirt, Seth helped relax me, a sigh of pleasure escaping my lungs as I slumped harder against him.

I could almost feel the goosebumps rising on my exposed skin as my master pushed up my skirt,