About two hours later, the dressing room looked like a battlefield. Clothes were scattered everywhere, lube bottles lay on their sides leaking clear puddles onto the floor, and the ratty couch had been pushed completely against the wall at some point during the chaos.
The air was thick and humid, saturated with the heavy musk of sweat, cum, and cheap cologne. Bodies were sprawled across every available surface. The ten lucky femboys who had followed Corey into the room were completely unconscious, their massive asses still leaking thick white trails of Kota's cum onto the carpet. Some were curled up together in little spooning piles, others were face down with their cheeks still spread and gaping. Every single one of them had been thoroughly, completely, mercilessly stuffed.
Kota stood in the center of the destruction, stretching his arms over his head until his shoulders popped. His body hummed with that pleasant, bone deep exhaustion that came after a long, productive session. His cock hung heavy and soft between his thighs, finally sated after fulfilling his hyperspermia quota several times over. He breathed a long sigh of relief and surveyed the carnage.
Some of those femboys had been really hot. The tall blond with the glitter cheekbones had taken his entire length without a single complaint, just moaned and begged for more the whole time. The one with the silver chains had a tongue piercing that felt incredible. The pink haired one had begged Kota to choke him while he got fucked from behind. Kota had collected a few numbers, scrawled on scraps of paper and tucked into his pocket. Theo would probably want to know about those later. Theo would probably want to know about all of this.
Corey was still on the couch, the only femboy in the room who wasn't passed out cold. He lay sprawled across the cushions, one leg hooked over the armrest, his white hair fanned out around his flushed face. His plump ass was still completely bare, his baggy gray jeans long since lost somewhere in the chaos. A supremely contented smile stretched across his glossy lips, his eyes half lidded and dreamy.
Kota frowned. That level of bliss seemed suspicious given that nobody had touched Corey in at least twenty minutes. Then he heard it. A faint, high pitched buzz. A soft whirring sound coming from somewhere very specific.
"Corey," Kota said slowly, "is there a vibrator up your ass right now?"
Corey's grin widened. He didn't even open his eyes. "Maybe. It's the one I hid earlier. The pink one. Told you I'd find a good spot for it. You said not in my ass, but you didn't say not in my ass later."
Kota shook his head, too tired to even be surprised anymore. A sudden grumble rolled through his stomach, loud enough to echo in the quiet room. He pressed a hand to his abdomen and realized he hadn't eaten anything since the fancy dinner with Theo hours ago. The souffle and poke bowl felt like a distant memory.
"Hey. Corey. Where are the vending machines in this place?"
Corey's eyes stayed closed. His voice came out slow and dreamy, each word stretched out like taffy. "Mmnnn... down the hall... take a left... past the... the thing... the sign... you can't miss it... I'm a lil busy right now, cutie..."
The vibrator buzzed a little louder. Corey's toes curled.
Kota sighed and left him to it. He stepped over the sleeping femboys, navigating the maze of limbs and discarded clothes, and pushed through the dressing room door into the narrow hallway. The venue was quieter now, the distant thump of bass from the main showroom finally silenced. A few roadies were breaking down equipment, coiling cables and stacking amps. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Kota followed Corey's vague directions, turning left at the end of the hall and walking until he found the vending machines tucked into a small alcove near the restrooms.
The machines were old, the kind with faded logos and buttons that stuck. One was full of chips and candy bars. The other had sodas and water. Kota's stomach growled again, louder this time. He patted his pockets and came up empty. No cash. No coins. Not even a crumpled dollar bill. He had left the apartment in such a rush for the date that he hadn't even thought to grab his wallet.
For a moment he considered the ten thousand dollars Theo had offered him weeks ago, still locked in that safe in the principal's office. He should have taken it. He really should have taken it. The vending machine glass reflected his tired, hungry face back at him, mocking him with rows of chips he couldn't buy.
He pulled out his phone and hovered over Theo's contact. The screen glowed in the dim hallway. He could just ask. A quick text. Hey babe, can you send me twenty bucks for snacks? Theo would do it in a heartbeat. Theo would probably send two hundred and tell him to buy something nice. But the thought made Kota's stomach twist for a different reason. He didn't want to seem like a gold digger. Theo already paid for everything on their date, already offered him cars and money and shopping sprees. Asking for vending machine cash felt like crossing some invisible line.
Kota pocketed the phone and decided to check the van instead. The band had to have something in there. A bag of chips, a protein bar, a half eaten sandwich. Anything. The van was always full of random crap. Surely there was something edible buried under all the energy drink cans and porn magazines.
He walked out of the venue through the side entrance, the cool night air hitting his face like a welcome relief after hours in that stuffy dressing room. The alley was quiet, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional siren the only sounds breaking the silence. The van was parked right where they had left it, the matte black exterior blending into the shadows.
Across the street, a group of young men loitered near a chain link fence. They were clearly a gang, their posture carrying that particular mix of boredom and menace that came from having nothing to do and no fear of consequences. Baggy clothes, dark hoodies, the occasional glint of a chain or a ring. Their massive post Vanishing asses strained against their loose pants, but the muscle in their shoulders and arms suggested they hadn't gone soft like most.
Davion was the clear leader. He stood slightly apart from the others, tall and broad shouldered, his dark skin catching the orange glow of the streetlight. His own ass was thick and powerful, the kind that came from hours in the gym rather than the natural exaggeration most femboys had. He had been listening to his boys argue for the last ten minutes, his expression unreadable.
"I'm telling you, strip club is a waste of money," one of them said, a lanky guy with a durag and a toothpick between his teeth. "We can get a hooker for the same price and actually nut instead of just watching."
"Hookers are nasty," another argued, shorter with cornrows and a scar through his eyebrow. "You don't know where they've been. At least at the club you can look before you touch."
"The club girls don't touch back. That's the problem."
"The club girls will touch if you tip enough."
"We don't have tip enough money. That's why we're having this conversation."
Davion wasn't listening. His eyes had locked onto a figure emerging from the venue across the street. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark skin. A black button up shirt that was rumpled and half untucked. Gray slacks. The guy was walking toward a beat up black van with the relaxed, tired stride of someone who had just had a very long night.
One of his boys followed his gaze. "Yo. Ain't that the guy? The one from the video?"
Another leaned forward, squinting. "That's him. That's definitely him. The one who had Magnus on his knees in the school bathroom. The one who fucked your little brother's throat on camera."
The gang stirred, a low ripple of interest passing through them. The lanky one grinned, toothpick rolling to the other side of his mouth. "Damn. Look at him. Just walking around like he didn't humiliate your whole family. You gonna let him get away with that, Davion?"
The one with the scar raised an eyebrow. "You should fuck him. As revenge. Eye for an eye. He fucked your brother, you fuck him. Make him choke on it. See how he likes being on the receiving end."
"Nah, man, look at him. He ain't even got an ass. Flat as a board. No curves, no hips, no nothing. You'd be fucking a plank of wood."
"Doesn't matter if he's got an ass or not. It's about dominance. It's about sending a message. You let some flat ass nobody disrespect your blood and just walk away? That's weak, Davion. That's real weak."
"Go get your gun," another suggested, his voice dropping low and serious. "One shot to the leg. He won't be walking so tall after that. Won't be fucking anyone's brother either."
Davion was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working as he ground his teeth. His eyes never left Kota, tracking him as he walked toward the van. The memories flashed behind his eyes. Magnus on his knees. The video. The whole school seeing his little brother get throat fucked by some random nobody. The shame. The rage.
He reached into his waistband. His boys tensed, expecting the cold gleam of metal. But Davion's hand came out empty. He had left the gun at home. For once, he didn't need it.
"Nah," Davion said, his voice low and steady. "I got this."
He pushed off the fence and started walking. His stride was calm, measured, the walk of a man who had never been afraid of anything in his life. His boys watched him go, grins spreading across their faces.
"Aw shit. He's gonna handle it."
"Davion don't need a gun. Davion IS the gun."
"RIP to that flat ass motherfucker."
Kota was still rummaging through the van's messy interior, bent over the back seat, looking for anything resembling food. He didn't hear the footsteps approaching. He didn't see the shadow falling across the alley. The streetlight flickered once, casting long, distorted shapes across the cracked asphalt.