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vyl3tpwny · 8 months

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Music Genres

When I was kid, you would have probably heard me say something like “I don’t believe in genre labels”. To a degree, there is still something about that sentiment that I agree with; I don’t think you can really put music and styles of music in neat little boxes. But otherwise, I was pretty much wrong about everything else.

Let’s go over that.

pictured: Mala, one of the godfathers of roots Dubstep

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To be blunt, “genre” isn’t just about approximating what a song sounds like. If you say “I love pop music”, that honestly doesn’t mean much. The more specific you get, the more you will approach something someone can imagine like “I like experimental progressive noise pop music”. Ok, I can start to imagine things that likely approach what you're talking about, but even then it will usually not help someone fully understand what something truly is. In categorizing and approximating music styles, genres only go so far. So what makes them important then?

Well, not to say that approximating a style when describing an artist to someone is a bad thing or that doing so isn’t meant to be valued, but it’s hardly the only reason these labels exist. Importantly, “genre” helps establish culture, history, and a musical identity. So when you're trying to tell someone you're listening to a "progressive rock” project, you’re not just imagining odd time-signatures and complex riffs, you’re also meant to understand and consider that whatever is being described as to you has some sort of relevance or importance with regards to the history behind progressive rock; the culture of college bands in the UK, the sound that the punk movement revolted against, the progression of musical storytelling in rock music since the late 60’s and early 70’s, stuff like that. There’s a distinct culture and history you can pinpoint and understand when you describe something as being progressive rock and you can’t just go around calling any complex electric guitar oriented music "progressive rock" unless it has those specific ties as well as understanding and iteration of the roots.

pictured: Genesis, because progressive rock mention

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Genre labels help to clarify what kind of culture and histories a music project is being associated itself with and where a lot of its inspiration comes from. This is much more compelling reason for underlining the importance of genre labels and why they should be used correctly.

So, there is something I need to get off my chest then. There are a lot of misuses of genre labels all over the place, especially online. And I’m not talking about saying something is “Alternative Rock” when it’s clearly some kind of “Folk Rock” record instead. What I’m talking about is something like “Dubstep”.

Even as recent as a few years ago, I started personally reclaiming the term “Dubstep” as a genre label to describe any bass-adjacent music. At the time I did this, I thought it was cool, because the term Dubstep had been dubbed (pun intended) to be cringeworthy lexicon to some people. And while I feel that’s a noble reason to reclaim something like that, because some weirdos think it's cringe, in this case I actually think it’s wrong.

The term “Brostep” has been used to describe any non-roots bass-oriented music that originates from the proper roots Dubstep. It’s a term I didn’t like FOREVER, especially because the phrase was derived as a generalization of the kind of people who tend to listen to it. However, I actually think that Brostep is a title that people should be more comfortable and confident with labeling things as.

The original Dubstep came as a result of Jamaican immigrants bringing Dub music to the UK, which then fused with the remnants of 2-Step Garage which was prominent in the 90’s just years prior. Timbah.On.Toast made a great video called All My Homies Hate Skrillex and it is a really good breakdown of what separates roots Dubstep from the Americanized Brostep, which came after it. I think everyone knows by now that I have a deep, deep love for EDM based Broste and I am the biggest Skrillex fangirl alive. So being both a Brostep and Skrillex superfan, please understand that I think the video is one of the most important things you can watch as an EDM enjoyer.

Conflating the term Dubstep with things that aren’t actually Dubstep is honestly a slap in the face to all of the pioneers of Dub and Dubstep, which famously were both pretty much ENTIRELY invented by black people. I think it’s fair to say that incorrectly labeling music in this way has racist implications. It dishonours and twists the legacy of the music. You can find og Dubstep to listen to on the RYM Ultimate Box Set > Dubstep page. Check some of that out, then listen to some 2010, 2011 Skrillex and see how different things really went.

It confused me at first when I was a teenager, I didn't understand why so many people hated Skrillex back in the day. I came to realize so much of the hate wasn’t even really with regards music itself, but the total lack of understanding or care for the roots of the genre, which all of his work was founded upon and he then subsequently bastardized without caring at all. It was pure disrespect, it was practically cultural erasure and so many people will now only know of Dubstep as “that Skrillex transformer screech music”. Yeah. It actually fucking sucks.

But there is a LONG history of black music being erased from history and being undermined, whether entirely intentional or due to systemic unawareness.

I saw a post the other day talking about how it sucks that so much music is just lumped into being “video game music” when so much of this stuff has deep roots and cultural significance. The first example pointed how a lot of acid jazz music is just described as “Persona music” by the layperson now. Meanwhile, Acid Jazz as a genre is a huge development on things like roots jazz, disco, funk, and hip hop music. You know. All genres that were invented by black people. Fascinating, right?

Jungle music was also mentioned. And this one is very particular for me. Jungle music, when not being generalized as "PS1 Music", is often just called drum & bass or breakcore (also please Google the difference between breakbeat and breakcore, thanks) which are all fundamentally misunderstanding what Jungle music even is. Much of Jungle music, AS MANY THINGS DO, finds VERY prominent roots in Reggae, Dub, and sound system culture in Jamaica as well as countless other prominently black communities in the UK.

But it doesn’t stop there.

If you’re unfamiliar, there is a genre called “IDM”, otherwise known as Intelligent Dance Music. When I was a kid, and I first heard that word, I immediately was like “that is the most pretentious, stupid thing I’ve ever heard”. Eventually as I grew up, I just stopped thinking about that and started referring to more music as IDM. This style of music is generally characterized with “complexity” and being “not much danceable”. While I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the music that is called IDM, I do think there’s everything wrong with the term IDM, intelligent dance music.

When asked how he feels about being labeled as an IDM artist, Aphex Twin responded:

"I just think it's really funny to have terms like that. It's [basically] saying 'this is intelligent and everything else is STUPID.' It's really nasty to everyone else's music."

pictured: Aphex Twin, the funnyman himself

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I think most people would agree with this sentiment. It’s so strange to call one kind of music “intelligent”, out of the hundreds of thousands of genres out there. But let’s bring this back to Jungle music. The reality is that IDM started to become a term around the same time that Jungle music became prominent, in the 90's. Both styles of music are complex, introspective, skittery, and chaotic (but refined and often disciplined) genres. Except, of these two, Jungle music was the one pioneered primarily by black artists. IDM was a sort in competition with Jungle. To therefore call IDM “intelligent” in comparison to Jungle music ... well. I don’t feel like I really have to explain why that’s fucked up.

A lot of people have proposed different names for IDM. A quick look on reddit yields things like “Experimental Electronic” and “Brain Dance” (which was coined by Aphex Twin's label). Me personally, the term “Electro-Prog” comes to mind. Sounds cool.

Similar conversations are presently being had about the term “Riddim”. This brings us back to the dubstep side of this discussion again. Riddim, as an EDM genre, is an offshoot of Brostep music that focuses a lot on repetition over the downbeat, maintaining an insanely distorted sound design, a lot more than the average Brostep song. However, the term “riddim” originates — yet again — from the Jamaican Patois for “rhythm”. And Riddim as a musical style in Jamaica is actually more associated with things like dancehall and reggae, rather than the commercialized "Riddim" that is several hundred times removed from its own roots.

Last year, musician INFEKT proposed that what most EDM listeners call “riddim” should be referred to instead as “Trench” in an article on their website. This proposed name is derived from Getter’s use of the term on his 2014 record “Trenchlords Vol. 1”. I don’t personally know how much I resonate with the term, but whatever the consensus is, I don’t think we should be conflating a westernized, commercialized, and EDM-centric genre like this to Jamaican roots music. Over and over again, it seems that black music is constantly overwritten by developments like this, so I think more care needs to be taken in not allowing that to happen.

As a side note, a lot of people online seem very keen on appropriating Jamaican Patois quite often? There are so many examples of this. When the term “Bomboclaat” started making the rounds on Twitter a few years ago, so many white people were quick to either talk wildly about the term and trend or otherwise start saying it as well. There was a fucking article that sought to answer “The Bomboclaat >> Meme << Meaning Explained”, like they’re not dissecting an element of Jamaican slang lol. Then there was a period of time where people were constantly saying things like “On Jah?” as a stand-in for “On God?” even though this, again, is Jamaican Patois. And even now, you have tons and tons of non-black people going everywhere being like “what is blud waffling about?”, the phrase “blud” ONCE AGAIN also being Jamaican in origin.

I shouldn’t even have to explain what makes these kinds of appropriations weird and messed up. But black people lose jobs and are denied basic things in life over their hair styles, their expressions and slang, and so many other things that a white person can just appropriate and face zero consequences whatsoever for.

That aside, aside. Understanding and labeling genres correctly is such a big part of music history and highlighting and preserving cultures worldwide. When efforts are made to undermine the meaning of a genre label or otherwise use it incorrectly, so much damage is done to the communities and people groups that innovate and pioneer this art to begin with.

For these reasons, I will gladly use the term Brostep. I will happily call things Electro-Prog. And when you talk about genres like Jungle and Dubstep, say it with your whole chest. Be proud of the human race, show respect and love for the people who have forged the greatest parts of music with their bare hands. We will always stand on the shoulders of giants as musicians, so instead of pretending you yourself are the giant, build monuments and maintain the history of these people. You as an artist are nothing without them.

pictured: Augustus Pablo, one of the most important innovators of Dub. Without him, and without many of his contemporaries, I would reckon that half or more of all modern music would simply not exist.

CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS FINAL SECTION, THERE ARE LIKE LOTS OF STRANGE SLURS AND RACIST VIBES.

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One last thing I wanna mention, this is slightly tangential but I think it's relevant to this conversation. It's always weird how lots of websites categorize things like this:

From Big Fish Audio... "G**sy*? "World/Ethnic Loops & Samples"? What the fuck are you talking about. Seems like racism to me.

On Loopmasters they have a "World" section. Any Americanized genre gets its own category, but the entire continents of Africa and Asia as well as the country of India and region of the Middle East (which are part of Asia, hope this helps btw) and lastly South America are stuffed into the nebulous "World Label". Seems like racism to me. Are you telling me you weirdos can't figure out a better way to represent these things?

But then Psy Trance gets its whole entire own category? Aren't there only like five people who listen to Psy Trance? /hj . But like come on.

Shoutout to WA Productions for categorizing a universe of suspiciously mostly black music as """Urban"""". And this company is a dime a dozen, hundreds of corpos do this shit.

East fucking West, what is this dude. There is a racism happening, I just know it. Please give me a count of how many poc are on payroll at your company, I am so curious.

And while we're at it, East West, what is this. Tell me. Fucking tell me.

Thanks for reading.

#vyop

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bijouxcarys · 2 months

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Spotlight (Robert Plant x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Description: Robert Plant has been pining over Mallory Jackson for more than a year now, admiring her from afar, as many around the world did. But on the night of his Shaken 'N' Stirred release party in New York, he finds out just how much the pining is reciprocated…

Word count: 9.8k

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @callmethehunter @firethatgrewsolow @chromations @tangerine1969 @ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @angrychicksposts @inanebula @strsmn @m-faithfull @friccinfricks

1980s Britain. A time teeming with unemployment, depression, inflation, and political instability. Regular folk made do with the circumstances they found themselves in, and stars laid down their egos in support of those who made them who they were. Little boys wanted to be Indiana Jones, and little girls pined for their pop star fantasy. And every teenager sought for an escape from the pressures of knowing their carefree years were rapidly coming to an end.

Husbands worked endless hours, housewives worked to maintain a semblance of balance. And within each of these homes, under layers of unpaid bills and rent, sat the one form of media everyone could enjoy, afford, and revisit.

Magazines.

Feminine faces plastered on cover after cover, all with different stories, different styles… maybe one day that little girl could look like that, or that teenager would be able to attract someone as ethereal to marry.

A model’s world is not just about her hair, her eyes, or her body. It’s the very essence she possesses. It seeps through the glossy paper, and speaks to you, captivates you... If she’s talented enough.

And those talented enough were lucky enough to enjoy the subsequent luxury of being a star.

Mallory had laboured in her desire for success. For fame. Just the word alone was enough to set her soul ablaze. She studied her own reflection for hours on end to perfect her movements; where to place her hands, which angle to tilt her head in, how wide her eyes should be. By 17, she’d suffered a dozen rejection letters, but it only fuelled her further.

She would not stop until she had the best of the best. Until she was the best of the best.

That came at 20, when a chance encounter at a coffee shop led her to becoming a featured face throughout the August 1983 edition of Elle magazine. With time, people started to compare her to the likes of Elizabeth Taylor with a Brooke Shields oddity.

By her 21st birthday, she’d become the face of i-D, Harper’s Bazaar, and Vogue. She’s garnered the attention of many, including the powerful Hugh Hefner of Playboy, and whichever big-time artist found themselves in need of a pretty face with long legs and a stern work ethic.

Amongst those big-time artists infiltrating the charts and taking advantage of the skyrocketing commercialism, laid the has-beens of the 60s and 70s, approaching middle-age and desperate to adopt modern styles, trends, and sentiments. A whole new generation, a whole new audience to win over—to remind that they were once akin to a God.

Yet, lurking in the shadows of modern pop, those with the desire to evolve as artists went about their lives, steadily adapting to the new era.

Robert Plant embodied the latter, and was terrified of the former.

He welcomed the 80s with open arms, though he didn’t have much of a choice. Something had to change. And it did. Between the separation of Zeppelin, and later his wife of 15 years, Robert embraced his new life. He enjoyed his solo career, cherishing every experience and endeavour.

Not one to turn his nose up at the ever changing landscape of entertainment, he chose to live it.

Savour everything it had to offer, earthly pleasures and all.

Happy with the moderate following his solo career had garnered, and therefore the buzz surrounding his newest venture Shaken ‘N’ Stirred, Robert did what he did best and celebrated in style.

Of course, he recognised her from across the room, his release party in full swing. He wasn’t immune to stumbling across certain magazines, and the occasional advertisement in Piccadilly Circus, that had the lovely Mallory’s face plastered all over. Even from afar, through the gaps between each bustling attendee, she surpassed any expectation set in place by her media presence.

It was like a spotlight consumed her, everywhere she went.

He’d heard whispers that she may be attending this evening, and though he didn’t vocalise it, he secretly hoped she would. After all, it was a rarity for her to miss a release party of this candour. Unapologetic in her lust for life, and her zest for the glitz and glamour that came with every superficial venture she’d taken in her 22 years on Earth.

Mallory had already lived the life of someone twice her age, and Robert could sense it. Even through cover pages, television screens, or lit-up billboards. It was potent. Heavy.

And something he found oh so alluring.

Never had Robert felt particularly nervous to approach a girl, or at the very least the pressure to impress one. Not in a very long time. Usually, they flocked to him. He was the one to lay back, and let his magnetic aura attract every female of every shape, size, culture, height, and age. Then, he could meticulously cherry pick a handful to make his for the night, and if she was lucky, one would stay in contact with him.

Not tonight.

In his alcohol-induced buzz, Robert had encountered multiple women already throughout the night. He’d cuddled up to them, given them all the attention they needed within the boundaries of a public setting. But what he really wanted—no, needed—was that raven-haired young woman sucking on a lemon slice after a particularly strong shot of tequila. The symbolism was not lost on him.

Unbeknownst to him, Mallory had been subtly sizing up Robert throughout the entire soirée. Starting near the entrance, she engaged in chit-chat with anyone within earshot—maybe more than your average person would have found charming. But Mallory wasn’t your run-of-the-mill guest; she revelled in the attention and the curious eyes that inevitably followed her every move in her own stardom.

While graciously accepting compliments and manoeuvring through corporate-esque small talk, Mallory had a mental map of the room, like a seasoned explorer navigating uncharted terrain. She strategically identified groups that formed a path leading to the centre of attention—Robert himself. Direct approaches weren’t her style; Mallory operated with finesse.

To say she felt self-assured with each step toward Robert would be an understatement. Approaching big names was familiar territory for her; any inkling of anxiety evaporated as adrenaline surged with the realisation that he was her next target.

Luck was on her side as Robert wrapped up a conversation with another woman who gracefully excused herself. He momentarily froze mid-sip when he turned to find Mallory, the captivating woman he’d been eyeing all night, closing in. However, he quickly composed himself, a smirk playing on his lips.

Taking a moment to appreciate her attire, he couldn’t help but notice how elegantly it gripped her curves—just as he had dreamed about doing all night. Her chest, a perfectly sculpted feature, held his gaze a tad longer than necessary. The silk dress she wore left little to the imagination, but having seen her modelling lingerie, he effortlessly pictured the little black number crumpled on his bedroom floor.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr Plant,” she teased, a friendly smile gracing her lips, painted in a muted maroon that seemed to hold the secrets of a thousand whispered conversations.

God, her voice—a velvet symphony that played on the edges of Robert’s senses. His signature smirk, a mischievous dance on his lips, responded to her greeting. “What are the odds, eh? Almost like it’s my party,” he quipped, his smile deepening at the spark in her eyes, a laughter-filled serenade.

“Well, they don’t just let anyone run loose in a place like this in New York.” She tilted her head, a subtle game of observation playing in the depths of her eyes, decoding every nuance in his reactions and emotions.

“My dear, truer words have never been spoken,” he replied, a conspiratorial glint in his gaze. His free arm, an extension of casual confidence, wound itself around her shoulders. The smirk mirrored on her perfect lips, couples with the smoky allure in her eyes, hinted at her unspoken approval. She, too, seemed to yield to the gravitational pull, stepping closer into the captivating orbit he had initiated.

“How would you know who they do and don’t let in here, anyway?” he inquired, his head tilting down toward her, his hand maintaining a firm grip on her shoulder.

“Hmm,” she mused, allowing a tantalising pause to hang in the air, leaving him to wonder. “I’ve gotten around quite a bit,” she confessed with a cheeky grin, savouring his immediate interpretation. “Not quite in the way your imagination might conjure… though, I wouldn’t entirely rule that out.”

“So, that settles the burning question of ‘What exactly does Mallory Jackson do when she’s not enchanting the world with her incomparable beauty?’” he bantered, audacity colouring his words.

Mallory’s brows arched, a hint of astonishment gracing her features at his fearless demeanour. Yet, she reminded herself, this was Robert Plant—slightly tipsy and delightfully unpredictable. One could never predict what gems might spill from his gifted mouth.

“You know who I am, then?” she asked, a blend of question and confirmation.

“You don’t sound very surprised, luv.”

Mallory chuckled silkily, gracefully circling around to position herself directly in front of him. Her hand glided up, securing a steady hold on his button-up shirt. Gently drawing him closer, she practically purred up at him:

“Darling… Everyone knows who I am.”

With a daring yet barely-there peck on Robert’s lips, she released him. A rush of power surged through her, sending sparks of newfound confidence coursing through her nerve endings, even the most sacred ones.

Whilst she backed up, her hand remained delicately wrapped around his wrist, giving him a small squeeze in a silent provocation. His eyes narrowed down at her, as if trying to decode her. Figure her out. A fellow Brit in The Big Apple, young and carefree—a little like him at his most naive. But Mallory held something he didn’t when Zeppelin made their US debut; wisdom. A 22-year-old drowning in the misery of wisdom only someone twice her age could muster. She took the menacing possibility of a downtrodden existence, kicked it into another universe, and took life by the horns.

I have to have her.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him, her hair dangling to the side with the movements of her head. She had a knowing smirk on her lips, the question sounding as rhetoric.

Composing himself, Robert met her gaze, equally as intense and foreboding. Then, suddenly, he manoeuvred his hand to her waist, drawing her back into him with a steady force. Lowering his head closer to hers, he dropped his voice to a beguiling utter.

“I’m thinkin’ about how much I’d like to see this pretty dress on my hotel room floor.”

Mallory’s breath caught in her throat, the admission expected but achieving the effects of the most delicate foreplay. The cluster of people around them became insignificant to her, to him, the moment unfolding as a telepathic agreement.

“What else?” she dared to ask, her hand tentatively moving up to his muscular arm, fingers tightening around the material of his button-up.

“I’m not sure I should divulge such classified information in such a public setting…”

Running her tongue along her teeth, she tilted her head upwards to look Robert in the eye. Challenging him. “Well…” she breathed, her eyes flicking down to his lips for a brief moment. “Perhaps you should… show me… in a more… private setting?”

Got her.

Thickly swallowing, Robert cleared his throat and idly passed his almost empty cup off to a random passerby, before swiftly taking Mallory’s hand and leading her away from the crowd and out into the hallway.

Got him.

Mallory discarded her own cup on a nearby table quickly enough to allow herself to be swept away by Robert in the direction of the conjoined hotel lobby located just at the end of the narrow hallway. She kept quiet as he slowed the pace and bid the receptionist a good night, the girl responding with a flustered smile. Mallory smirked at her reaction, squeezing onto Robert’s hand as they enclosed themselves in one of the elevators.

“Seems like you have quite the influence around here, Mr Plant,” she teased, allowing him to take her into his arms after pressing the required button to his floor.

“Yeah? And what gives you that idea, Miss Jackson?” He freely lowered his hands to hold onto her waist, twitching below at how nicely she fit between his palms.

“The receptionist.”

“Hmm, pretty girl, isn’t she?” He narrowed his eyes, gauging Mallory’s reaction. Half expecting her to respond with an air of jealousy, as most girls would, and have.

“She most definitely is,” she simply agreed, matching his intense stare.

“Perhaps I should ask her to join us?” Testing the waters. Slowly. Steady, Rob.

“As enticing of an offer as that sounds,” she started, rolling her hips forward to get a taste of what he had waiting for her under those trousers. “Maybe that can wait for another time… I want you all to myself tonight.”

Robert let out a gruff breath, lifting a hand to hold onto the side of Mallory’s head. “You are such a little minx,” he grunted, before pulling her forward and finally locking his lips with hers in an intense kiss. She practically melted, letting out all of the tension building up inside her through an exhale as she meshed her lips with his. He was frantic, needy. Hoisting her up the elevator’s wall by hooking his arms around her legs, until she had no choice but to wrap them around his waist.

Their tongues rippled in a circular motion, caressing each other in a silky swirl. They tasted like vodka and orange. Smelled like the clash of perfume and cologne, and a light musk from the heated environment. But no heat could match the one stirring between her legs as she arched into him, his greedy hands grabbing all over as he devoured her with his kiss.

When Robert’s lips made a steady journey down the expanse of her neck, the grip of her fingers on his shirt tightened. Desperate. A passionate yearn for more. A choked moan rumbled in her throat as he bared his teeth, gentle ridges nipping harshly at her delicate skin.

Mallory glanced at the row of golden buttons, a wave of relief washing over her as she saw they still had some time to be wrapped up like this before they reached the 7th floor.

“You better not be leaving marks on me.”

“Or what?”

“Ugh,” she huffed, her head resting back against the mirrored walls of the lift. Surrendering to his actions. Like it was meant to happen. His smirk was felt against her as he continued, holding the other side of her neck as he bit down brusquely, hollowing his cheeks and sucking like his life depended on it. It seemed to last forever, like he was draining her of her energy. Her ability to maintain her composure. Pain was pleasure, goosebumps spiking every inch of unclothed skin.

Her legs tightened around him as he released her with a faint pop. He then kissed over the mark he’d made, satisfied with how deep of a shade it was, even upon completion, knowing it would only darken throughout the course of the evening.

“If I could bite a perfect ‘R’ along your beautiful skin, I would…” he breathed, jutting forward to nip at her lower lip. “But I guess impaling you on my cock will have to do.”

Oh, my goodness… Her breathing hitched, stunned at his words. She knew he was good, but not this good…

“You have no clue how long I’ve wanted you to speak to me like that,” she hummed, head light and fuzzy at the sensation of Robert’s fingers forking through her hair.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “Ever since I bought my first record… I heard that voice…” She ran the tip of her finger around the collar of his shirt, the ding from the lift sending a jolt of anticipation straight to her cunt. With a smirk, she whispered hotly against his lips. “And I knew I had to have you one day…”

It was a challenge for Robert to navigate the stretched out corridors of the New York hotel, his room located right down at the bottom, but seemed much further. His brain was imploding, going through all the things he wanted to do to the woman he had under his arm. She was so perfect. He wanted to do everything and more. He couldn’t choose a single sordid move to focus his mind on, even for a second.

He imagined her on top, underneath, on her side, on all fours. Against a wall, over a table, out on the bloody balcony. He wanted her in every position, anywhere, and everywhere.

What does she taste like? A lady of such elegance and beauty has to taste sweeter than the finest honey curated from the softest hive…

To swallow her, eat her up, indulge—to get wholly doped up on her essence. What a tale for the cerebral chronicle of his 37 years on Earth.

“Do you like whiskey?”

He had briefly subdued, painfully suppressed, his fantasies for a moment to cater to the gallant nature of his heart. Mallory appreciated it; to know he wasn’t wanting a quick fuck and dump. A long term situation appeared out of the question, and she knew that going into this, but she was not about to be used as a swift fix to satiate a libidinous rockstar.

She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” she answered, admiring the interior of his room. “I drink like an old man…” she casually added.

Robert chuckled, pouring two short glasses of Aberlour-Glenlivet on the rocks. “That, my dear,” he spun, passing her one of the drinks, “Is the best way to drink.” They lightly clinked their glasses together and took sips with the sweet accompaniment of eye contact, countering the bitter bite of the liquor.

As Mallory licked her lips, savouring the expensive taste, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. With a hum, she brushed her hair behind her shoulder, tilting her head to inspect Robert’s damage on her neck. Huffing in amusement, she raised and lowered an eyebrow.

“My make-up team is going to hate covering this up…”

He grinned crookedly, chewing his lip in boyish wonder. Proud of himself. Elated that he’d caused such semi-permanent markings that would remind her of him every day—long enough to stir the most tawdry thoughts. Enough to make her want more.

And he wanted to make more.

“Can’t say I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Mallory smirked at him. “Can’t say I’m surprised by that statement, Mr Plant.”

“You love it, though,” he shrugged, taking another sip. She merely gave him a smile of concurrence, knowing he had hit the nail on the head. She did love it.

Robert watched her like a hawk, from her red-bottom stilettos, up her sculpted, shiny legs, and straight to her long and layered dark locks, as she stalked the room with an unconscious refinement, finally reaching the bed, where she lowered herself to sit on the edge of the plush quilt.

“So. I guess it’s my turn to ask you.” She crossed one leg over the other, leaning forward to rest her arms over her leg. Like down at the party, he unabashedly feasted his eyes on the way her dress crumpled at the neckline, soft landscapes of her chest shimmering in the low lighting of his temporary home.

“Ask me what, luv?” With a hand in his pocket, he himself strode over slowly, stopping a healthy distance that allowed him to peruse to his heart’s desire.

“What does the incomparable Robert Plant do when he’s not dazzling the world with his unearthly vocals and…” She looked him up and down. “...Inebriating allure?”

What a way with words… He’d heard girls shower him with compliments for years now, and they all spoke of the same broad insinuations. Mallory left no room for insinuation, and all the room for a response as true as the blonde spiralling from his head.

“Well,” he inhaled, “When I’m not prancing around on stage, I tend to spend my time reading… possibly a bit of football here and there…” He trailed off, a roguish leer tugging at his lips as he averted his eyes. “And on occasion…” He took a smooth step closer to Mallory, the blue in his regard flooding her dusky gaze. “I get to take care of some of nature’s most sublime creations.”

Whilst stricken by his choice of words, she couldn’t help but stifle a small laugh, raising her glass up to her lips. “Don’t tell me it’s only on occasion.”

Robert responded with a chuckle of his own, and faux timidity in a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m sure yer well aware of my escapades, Miss Jackson, but I can assure you it’s not every day I get to spend my evenings in the presence of someone like you.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked, tilting her head with a playful grin. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is,” Another step closer. She had to crane her neck upwards to meet his eyes now. “It isn’t often I get to be with someone I just so happened to be fawning over for months myself…” Robert’s eyes shifted to the small collection of magazines at the foot of the bed. Mallory followed his line of sight and felt her face flush crimson.

Paper media with her face, her body, plastered on the front page. Vogue, Elle, Harper’s Bazaar… and her infamous Playboy appearance.

With a somewhat jesting expression, she leaned over and pulled the latter from the collection, her eyebrow raising suggestively in his direction. Placing her glass of whiskey on the bedside table, she flipped through the September 1984 issue, chuckling to herself.

“People hated me for this, you know,” she told him apathetically. The bed dipped beside her as Robert took a close seat, his jeans confidently brushing against her bare leg. Without a second thought, she boldly moved her ankle over his shin, her foot dangling in a carefree manner at the end of the crossed-over leg. Her eyes, however, stayed glued to the pages in her hands.

“Why did people hate it?” Robert asked, leaning closer to her to peer over her shoulder. His chin skimmed her shoulder, breath dangerously close to her neck once again.

“I don’t know…” she mumbled. “I think people saw me as more of a… reserved person. With a little more class, I guess.” She shrugged, turning the page to the centrefold. Robert pressed his lips gingerly to her shoulder, dragging them along the thin black strap of her dress.

“Seems pretty classy to me, luv,” he hummed, moving his lips closer to her neck. “I, for one, thought it was one of the more elegant features. I mean, look at that…” His hand crept along her arm, fingertips hot in their wake as he trailed them over the pages. He paid special attention to the main shot of Mallory, wearing nothing but a sheer lingerie set. Not quite nude, but just scandalous enough to be axed from the more family friendly brands.

Robert went quiet as he took a moment to appreciate the beauty as he had done time after time already. It struck him, somewhere deep down in his gut, how one could only just see the slightly darker skin of her nipples through the pricey lace bra she adorned. How the same could be said for the flimsy material of her underwear, strategically covering all the places he wanted to admire so badly, but not opaque enough to conceal the dark patch of hair between her legs. It left barely anything to the imagination.

“You’re the perfect little tease, Mallory,” he continued, a slight rasp in his throat. His finger continued to trace her body on the page. “You could have bared all for everyone to gawk at, yet you didn’t.”

Mallory’s cheeks remained tinted a light pink, unknowingly tilting her body towards him, resting into the arm that held him up behind her. “That was the idea behind it… They weren’t completely sold on it, but I insisted. And I told them that if it wasn’t good enough for them, then I could always leave, and they wouldn’t have a special feature for that month anymore.” She glanced at him. “Needless to say, it worked,” she emphasised with a smirk.

Robert returned the smirk, leaning closer into her. A bold one… “Good for you, luv.” He was still transfixed on the photo, his finger stopping on her painted lips as though he was feeling the plush flesh in person. Then, he steadily traced his digit further down, over her chest, her stomach, and finally to her cleverly concealing underwear. His finger lingered there, making small stroking motions, before he took a deep breath. The gesture had Mallory squeezing her thighs together under the glossy covers of the magazine, unable to eliminate the thought of him touching her rather than the photo.

“And now,” he breathed, lowering his hand from the pages and to her leg, his palm hot against her skin as he squeezed into the flesh of her thigh. “I get to have the real thing…”

With that, he gently took the magazine from Mallory’s hands, placing it back where it belonged, before taking his own whiskey from his other hand and placing it beside hers on the bedside table. On his journey back, he caught her in another kiss.

He slowly guided her onto her back, his broad form hovering over her. Her hands gripped at his shirt once again, tugging at it needily as her tongue reunited with his. Robert breathed out through his nose against her, deepening the kiss in a desperate attempt to consume her entire being. Propping himself up on his elbow, his free hand caressed every inch of her body within reach. The silk of her dress was soft in his touch as it lowered to her legs once again.

He kept her completely distracted and caught up in the passion in their kiss, taking her by surprise when he inched his hand up her inner thigh. She sighed against the smirk on his face, still connected by their lips, as he reached a familiar lace she had hidden away.

The pads of his fingertips pressed down daringly along her clothed core, an obvious dampness to the material that had been building up all night. Her leg instinctively fell to the side, giving him easier access, allowing him to slip his hand into her underwear with an unrestrained hankering.

Her intimate curls were as soft as the silk, and Robert found himself relieved of her defiance in the face of popular trends. He broke the kiss momentarily, searching her eyes as his middle finger stroked along her slick folds, bearing a teasing pressure that made her hold on his shirt intensify and her lips part in the release of a breathy sigh.

“Have I gotten you all worked up, darlin’?” Robert asked with a smug glint in his eye. Peppering her chin and the ticklish spot just below her lips with the lightest kisses, he pressed further down against her, his finger easily slipping past her folds. A pleased grunt escaped him as he massaged the hot flesh.

“Robert…” she half moaned, half sighed, before attempting to grind her hips upwards, needy for more friction.

“Nuh-uh,” He shook his head, hooking a leg around hers to keep her tamed. “Just relax, Mallory. We aren’t in any rush, eh?”

“No, I guess we’re not,” she huffed. Robert couldn’t stop the laugh that fell from his lips at her impatience.

“Oh, is this the part where I find out you’re also a little brat?”

Whimpering, she pulled at his collar. “I’m not a brat!”

“Shh,” he subdued her, covering her mouth with a heated kiss, pressing her back down into the bed. It didn’t take long for the kiss to become frantic, a symphonic blend of his breaths, her moans, and the growing wetness below.

It was messy, the way they grabbed at one another. His hand clamped onto her hair, hers replicating the tugging motion on his. Robert’s other hand, trapped between her weeping cunt and the soft lace, performed the most erotic dance. From circling her tiny pearl, to dipping two fingers into her tight entrance.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he hissed, sloppy kisses trailing down her neck. He revelled in the way she arched into him, her head hanging back as one strap fell from her shoulder. His lips had reached the neckline of her dress, and he needed more. As his fingers continually pumped in and out of her, seemingly on their own accord, he made the animalistic move to pull the strap down further, easily allowing him access to part of her chest.

Even though the dress she had worn all night provided little protection against the cold night air beyond the walls of their coital labyrinth, the air around them hit her harsher than any blizzard once Robert had gained access to her breasts. His mouth was strikingly hot as he wasted no time in taking a nipple into it, suckling and swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub. His fingers, sending her into overdrive, so long and deep inside her. If he could make her feel like this by just his fingers alone, she struggled to even fathom what his cock could do to her.

Her fingers thread and clamped around his hair as he nuzzled her chest, progressively increasing the speed of his hand. He could barely believe his luck, oddly enough, that he had this goddess of a woman laid over his bed. That he was able to feel how hot and inviting her cunt was, even if it was just his fingers. And although he was going to wait to feel her cum, to taste her sweet release, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Mallory’s arm wrapped around his neck when he came back up to trap her in another kiss. She breathed heavily against his lips, his palm brushing against her clit with vigour, perfectly in tandem with the rhythm he had curated with his tepid digits.

“Fuck, Robert,” she moaned against his lips, her hand shooting down to hold onto his arm, feeling the muscles tensing and rocking with each movement he made.

Robert clenched his jaw, watching every contour of her face. “I was gunna try and wait it out, darlin’, but I don’t think I can. I need to watch you cum on my fingers…” His voice was not far from a growl, as though he was already inside her, milking himself with her body. Yet, he was still safely tucked away in his jeans, hardness surely growing, but purely trivial in the event of her pleasure.

“Well, if you keep going, you won’t have to wait for very long…” she purred up at him. What was supposed to come as a sultry tease, instead came as a breathless whisper. She was already on the edge. “Oh, God…” she groaned, head pressing back into the bed.

Robert scanned over her body, down to the rapid movement of his hand between her legs. He imagined how soaked she’d make his fingers, how they would glisten upon removal. Without having to see her, he already knew he wouldn’t be able to resist a taste.

She was going to cum over and over again tonight. He’d make sure of it.

“Mm, I can feel how close you are, darlin’,” he rumbled, biting his lip as she writhed beneath him. “Look at me, Mallory.”

The command was simple enough. But there was an underlying desperation in his tone that prompted her to lift her head, locking her eyes with his. Giving her a satisfied smirk, he pressed their foreheads together.

“That’s it… I want to see those pretty eyes when you cum.”

Her hand slipped into the collar of his shirt, nails digging into the back of his neck as he finally let her grind her hips into his hand. Fucking his fingers, wishing it was his cock. But that would come later. Patience, Mal…

Mallory was panting, chest rising and falling. She couldn’t escape the piercing lock of his eyes. They brought her closer and closer, each second, until it was impossible to hold it in any longer.

Robert barely noticed he was holding his breath, as if he was awaiting a monumental moment—well, he was. To make this amazing woman feel good. He breathed out, sharply and hotly, feeling the burn in his muscles as Mallory finally convulsed around his digits, and a long whine fell from her lips.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” she moaned.

“That’s a good girl,” Robert nodded, grinning as he ground his own hips into her, desperate for friction against his hardened length. “You look so beautiful when you cum.”

Placing her hand over his, she gyrated and inhaled deeply as she rode out her orgasm. Once she’d let his hand go, he gently slipped it out of her underwear, leaving her empty and wanting more. His fingers were glistening, soaked.

Looking her in the eye, he proceeded to drag his tongue over the pads of his fingers, savouring the teaser.

“Hmm…” he hummed, before lowering his hand to her lips, performing a discerning swipe over them. “Open up, darlin’,” he whispered, biting his lip as she obliged, and slipped the digits into her mouth. She clamped her lips around his fingers, tongue swirling around them to catch a taste of her own juices.

With a provocative flourish, she took his fingers as far down her throat as they could get. Her smoky eyes were hooded as she let them go with an audible pop.

“I’m gunna tell you somethin’ now, luv,” he grumbled, lowering his head down to hum in a captivating candour. “I’m not usually one to listen to gossip, but…” He gently nibbled at her earlobe. “I’ve heard some interesting things about you and your… talents.”

She snorted, their fingers automatically threading together. “Elaborate?”

Robert chuckled, squeezing her hand. “Hm, well let’s just say that it’s got somethin’ to do with yer mouth.” He kissed down her neck and returned back to her chest, tugging the other strap down.

“Why don’t you just take it off?” she laughed, noticing his hunger.

“Good point,” he snickered, moving up on his knees.

The previously heavy-with-lust air had dissipated momentarily as Robert helped Mallory remove her dress. There was a hint of humour in each movement, a subdued and disguised excitement that they were doing this. Two humans with a large following, unknowingly following each other since the dawning of their careers, finally coming together to execute the most exquisite dance of prolonged pining.

Eventually, Robert had to remove his shirt, feeling too constricted and restrained. Then again, anyone with common sense would have to alleviate themselves in some way or another upon the glorious sight of Mallory Jackson in nothing but her lace knickers and sharp heels.

“Where are you going now?” Mallory asked with a smile as Robert turned to rummage through his bags.

“Stay there, I’ve got something ‘ere… Where the fuck is it…” he mumbled to himself. “Ah! Found it…”

In his hands, as he spun on his heel, was an immaculately kempt Canon T80. A camera she was no stranger to.

“If you don’t mind?” Robert asked, cocking his head to the side like an innocent Alsation. “I’d like to have some mementos.” His smile was boyish, mischievous. Quintessentially Robert.

“Darling, I spend my life on camera,” she purred. “Of course I don’t mind.”

“Naughty girl,” he jested, chewing his lip as he turned the camera on and lowered onto one knee.

“The most interesting proposal I’ve ever seen,” she teased his stance, before getting up onto her knees in the middle of the bed. “Tell me how you want me.”

Like a starved boy for juvenile satisfaction, Robert proceeded to instruct Mallory on pose after pose, making sure to catch her at all the same angles he adored whenever he spotted them in magazines, billboards, and on the television. But these would be for him, not the rest of the world.

“My God, you really are gorgeous, aren’t you?” Robert murmured, mostly to himself, as Mallory stretched out across the bed on her stomach, hips raised and ankles crossed in the air. Her hair was draped perfectly over her back, a majority of it falling behind her shoulder so Robert and his camera could catch her face. She truly was a natural at working a camera, understanding all of the singer’s instructions, no matter how much he struggled to direct her at times.

With Robert’s eyes so fixed on her body placement, he didn’t even notice that she was hungrily eyeing the bulge in his jeans. It was so prominent every time he leaned forward, or shifted his weight. God, she wanted him in her mouth, in her hand, in her cunt. She didn’t care, she just needed him buried deep inside her.

“‘Kay, that’s enough of that for now…” he rose to his feet, setting the camera down on the bedside table, next to the glasses of whiskey and melted ice.

“Did you get everything you wanted, Mr Plant?” She smirked, watching him unbuckle his belt.

“Hm, almost, darlin’.” He dragged his eyes over her form, still laying her stomach down on the bed. Her backside was so perfectly round, just waiting for his handprints, his lips, his hands. Anything.

Noticing this, Mallory pushed herself up onto all fours, back arching in a tantalising fashion. It was almost like she was a doll, perched patiently on a shelving unit, waiting for him to take her as his own and play with her to his heart’s desire.

And he did just that; he instructed her to stay as she was, limiting her ability to see as he pulled his remaining item of clothing from his body. Mallory knew that, just inches away from her, was Robert in all his nude glory. All she could do was listen as the bedsheets rustled. Eventually, she felt his large hands encase her hips, fingers teasing along the hemline of her underwear.

“Sit up, luv…” She obliged, propping herself up on her knees and leaning back. Swiftly, he tugged her further, landing her on his lap. Fuck, she could feel him.

Robert’s eyes roamed every inch of her, from her shapely curves hugging his hips, to her ruffled hair, lengthy and wavy down the expanse of her back. He took his time, praising her soft skin with the tips of his fingers. He could tell she was getting impatient; he knew she could feel how hard he was for her, and she had no choice but to deal with it through nothing but a thin material separating the two.

Mallory shifted her hips, eliciting a sigh from her lips. With a smirk, he moved his hands around to sneak them upwards, barely touching her.

“Robert…” she warned.

He chuckled darkly, before suddenly pulling her hips downwards, thrusting his own upwards to grind against her clothed core.

“Shall we get these off, baby?” he hummed with a gravelly tinge, pulling at her knickers and letting them go to twang against her skin. She couldn’t have moved any faster as she practically ripped the underwear off, not caring if she actually did tear some of the delicate lace in the process. “Bit eager, aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah, you’ve been teasing me,” she huffed with a small roll of her eyes. Robert couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the small glimpses into her defiant character.

“Bit of a mouth on ya, eh?” He raised and lowered his eyebrows before ushering her back on top of him. “I want you this way…” He smirked to himself.

Before she knew it, her thighs were encasing his head, and she was face to face with his rock-hard length. Hm, she thought. Just as big as what people say…

She couldn’t wait to have him inside of her. To feel those veins against the slick walls of her awaiting cunt. The flutters had already begun, his breath mere inches from where she needed him.

His hands ran over her thighs as he took in the view, not sure if he wanted to delve in, or just admire a little longer. But, alas, the temptation was far too strong, and he had to take a taste. With an urgency, he pulled her down against him, attaching his lips to her weeping folds.

“Fuck!” she gasped, grabbing onto his leg to steady herself as his tongue lashed away at her. He growled against her, fingers digging into the plush flesh of her backside.

Mallory tried her best to keep up with him, giving the head of his cock kitten licks and light suction. She knew if she truly matched up to his actions, he wouldn’t last much longer, even though she’d barely touched him. It was obvious, the way his red hot tip seeped translucent pearly drops.

She writhed, moaned, whimpered, whined, through Robert’s every motion. He was unrelenting, flicking and swirling at her swollen clit, hot breath hitting her in all the right places. Her hand was obedient, running it up and down the length of his cock, squeezing at the tip, practically drooling at the sight.

Through her daze, she just about managed to catch Robert’s subtle gesture for her to stop her movements on him, before fully engrossing himself in her hot core. Tugging at her, he brought her even further up until she had her palms flat on his toned stomach. She followed the rhythm his hands set for her hips, steadily grinding against every suck and lather.

“Oh, fuck… yes…” she hissed, jolting at the sudden sensation of his tongue teasing just a little further upwards, testing the waters of unknown territory. She was sure she could feel the smirk on his face, but was too enthralled with his talented mouth to think too far into it.

“D-don’t stop…” she airily pleaded, wincing when one of Robert’s strong, ringed hands, landed a brisk slap against her skin.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he almost inaudibly grunted, words muffled by her cunt as he feasted. “Mm—cum on my tongue, baby, do it...” He was rambling by this point, the experience just as pleasurable for him as it was for her.

Back arching, she edged closer and closer. Making a steadfast approach to her second orgasm of the night. And when it finally hit, Robert’s fingers dug so harshly into her backside that they’d surely leave marks. Another thing for her makeup team to cover up…

He hollowed his cheeks as he drank in her release, chin covered in her essence. Thighs shaking beside his head, her body convulsed and jolted at the growing sensitivity she knew would compliment the inevitable release exquisitely.

She shakily ran her hand through her hair, clearing her vision of the few strands that had adhered themselves to her skin, as she crawled further down the bed to turn and face Robert. In his own world, he was busy licking his lips, enjoying the aftertaste of Mallory Jackson. Even better than he expected, which was a lot.

“I guess… it’s true what they say,” she breathed, inching closer to him until he could wrap his arms around her. “With age, comes wisdom.”

“Wisdom in what, luv?” he asked with a smirk, fingers threading through her hair. He caught her blush, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Time allows a man to learn the ins and outs of pleasing women…” he trailed off, a smug, crooked smirk on his lips. “...Not that I’ve struggled much in the past…”

Mallory rolled her eyes at him again with an amused chortle. “My God, all you rockstars are the same…”

Robert’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? And why’s that, then?”

“The… pseudo-arrogance is potent, my love,” she hummed.

“Pseudo?”

“Mhm…” she nodded, pulling him to her, steering his form on top of her, where he wedged himself between her legs. The heels of her stilettos grazed dangerously over Robert’s lower back, threatening to press down at any moment. She revelled in the instability—the unknowing in her inner sadist. It could come out at any point.

“You don’t believe I’m actually arrogant, then?” he asked, glancing to the side in slight trepidation at the feeling of her heels on him.

Mallory smirked, choosing to ignore the elephant in the room as she innocently, nonchalantly answered him. “No…” Her voice was a whisper, genuine and smooth, a stark contrast to the sordid threat lower down the bed. “I think you’re amazing,” she started, running her hands down his fuzzy chest, finger stopping to play with the pendant of one of the two necklaces dangling from him. “Talented…” Stroking his ego as gently as she did his chest. “One of the most gorgeous people I’ve ever seen.”

In such an intimate moment, Robert practically inhaled her praise. Her words proved her authenticity—she wanted to take the time to catch his aura before jumping into bed with him. Just like he had done with her. They knew each other from a gargantuan distance, never face to face apart from endless forms of media, but now they bonded. Souls adhered, now on the precipice of partaking in a lustful union of mutual attraction.

“And if you don’t mind me saying,” she finally took the plunge, applying the smallest amount of pressure into his back with her heel, causing him to careen forward, hips unintentionally gyrating into hers. He still had his hands clasped around her back, and he couldn’t help the need to pull her into him, bodies pressing flush against each other.

“You’re the only man who’s managed to make me cum more than once without actually fucking me.”

Fuck… He swallowed harshly, eyes narrowing down at her. He was certain this woman could make him come undone without actually touching him.

“Well…” he sighed, exasperatedly. “I’m honoured to be the only one to do th–”

“No, I didn’t say the only one…” she interrupted, smoothly kicking off her heels and pushing them off the side of the bed. Robert’s brows furrowed in confusion, searching her eyes.

“I said the only man…”

It took him a minute to understand, but once he did, he felt his cock jump at the mere thought of Mallory and another woman. And she felt it.

“Fucking hell, Mallory…” he breathed out against her, lips teasingly close to hers. “That’s why you said about…”

“About the receptionist,” she giggled with a nod. “Now…” she giddily bit her lip, rolling her hips upwards. “I need you inside me.”

“Yer don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.” With a peck on her lips, he leaned back on his heels, parting her thighs with a pressure that angled her in such a lewd manner. “You’d be surprised how many girls get rid of this nowadays…” he commented whilst running his hand up her leg to her mound, dark curls partly glittering with her arousal. “I don’t know why anyone would do that.” He shrugged, before focusing on the tip of his cock, dragging it along her slick folds, up to her clit, and then back down where he pushed against her, finally, yet steadily, filling her with his girth.

Mallory’s eyes fluttered shut as he did, the sensation already overwhelming her being. The stretch was intense, the stinging pain. As if he was taking her innocence for the first time ever. 6 years of experience, and she’d never felt anything quite like it.

“Open your eyes, baby,” Robert whispered, rubbing his thumb over her clit. She can’t have realised how much she’d tensed up, but he sure did. As her brown eyes met his, he gave her a reassuring smile, slowly pulling back, and then forward. He repeated this, inching deeper each time, until he was completely buried inside of her. “You’re so pretty,” he huffed, brows creasing as her cunt tightened around him with each thrust.

She couldn’t do anything but moan in response. Lay back and let this god of a man take her in ways she’d only dreamed about since she was old enough to understand it.

As he sped up the pace, his hands grabbed at her thighs, pushing them further towards her chest until she naturally resorted to resting her calves on his shoulders. Hitting her in all the right spots, cock nuzzling her spongy walls. Her breasts moved in tandem with the rhythm, the view otherworldly to Robert and too intoxicating not to notice.

His hands laid flat on either side of her head, his necklaces dangled in her face, and the piercing blue in his eyes drugged her as skin slapped below and bed springs croaked.

“That feel good, baby?” he gruffly asked, clenching his jaw. She nodded, lips parted as small whines fell. “Yeah?” She nodded again. “Say it—fuck, tell me, Mallory… tell me how fuckin’ good my cock feels…”

“Shit…” she hissed, flinching at one particular thrust, one that slammed against her cervix. “Yes, it feels so fucking good!” she groaned, hand shooting to his bicep, where she clawed at his skin.

Obviously pleased with her response, Robert picked up his stabbing force. “Yeah, it feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!” Her head was thrown back, giving Robert the perfect view of where he’d marked her earlier into the evening, and the sleek sculpture of her jaw. He was almost too distracted to catch the words that followed.

Almost.

“I fucking love how your cock feels inside me, Daddy.”

His thrusts faltered, but for a mere second. Mallory immediately lifted her head, heart hammering against her ribcage—oh, God…

“What did you just call me?” he managed to utter, stilling when he settled his entire length within her.

Swallowing, her inhibitions were truly scattering, and she didn’t care how pathetic she sounded.

Only a Daddy could fuck her like this.

“I called you… Daddy,” she said with an air of vulnerability.

“I thought that’s what you said…” he nodded slowly, seemingly thinking over a fleeting idea, before he pulled himself back up onto his knees. Before she could question him, he instructed her to turn around. All fours.

Within seconds, he was back inside her, pushing into her as harshly as she bounced back against him. He could finally take her hair into his hand, creating a makeshift ponytail as he tugged and pulled at her, building momentum as they collided in erotic eruption.

“You’re so perfect for me, baby… so tight…” he grunted, groaned and panted through each thrust. She grabbed at the headboard with one hand, the other grabbing a fistful of the pillow below her. Her moans were stabs of provoked pleasure, synchronised with each pummelling of his hips.

There was something animalistic in Robert’s response to her back arching towards the bed, taking him deeper with her stretch. He landed another smack against her backside, embracing her body’s wanton reaction.

Thighs burning, she continued to rock backwards, meeting his hips, feeling his full balls hitting her clit each time. Her senses were at the highest point possible—or so she thought.

Robert allowed a droplet of his saliva to fall, watching as it landed on the sight below him. Cautiously, whilst steadying his thrusts, he ran his thumb experimentally over the same unknown territory he’d teased with his tongue, and gauged a shiver from Mallory earlier.

“This okay, darlin’?”

Mallory smiled to herself, chewing her lip and nodding. “Yeah…”

Still thrusting his hips, Robert proceeded to apply pressure with his thumb until the tip of it was snugly resting within the tight ring of muscle. Already, it added to the sublime level of ecstasy Mallory had found herself in, and she groaned under her breath, the triple stimulation ramping her up.

“Good girl…” Robert praised, resuming the ferocity of his movements from before. Each careen forward, meant his thumb sank deeper, and eventually she fell into a string of whimpers, moans that bordered on screams, and pleas of encouragement to keep going.

“P-please… God, please don’t stop.”

He smirked, cock twitching and throbbing inside her. Holding out. Patiently impatient for her release.

“Say it again…” he growled breathlessly.

She cried out, nails clawing into the wooden headboard. “Please, Robert, please don’t stop…”

“Who?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Daddy! Oh, fuck, please… Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard, Daddy, please…” she pled vulgarly, voice worn and high, echoing and reverberating in her chest from how harshly he was slamming into her.

“Listen to you, baby… Such a dirty little girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes… Yes, yes, yes…” She nodded, biting onto her lip so hard she was sure she caught a metallic taste.

“You’re Daddy’s dirty little girl, aren’t you, hm?”

“Yes!”

“Say it.”

“Oh, fuck, right there…” she panted, head falling forward as Robert released her hair to land a hard smack against her backside again.

“Say.” Thrust. “It.” Thrust.

“I-I’m Daddy’s dirty little girl—I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she blithered, unable to stop her body from arching back into him.

“That’s a good girl, cum for me, darlin’, let me feel it…” he grunted, moving his hand up to wrap it around her throat, pulling her back against his chest. They lowered, Mallory spread open across his lap as she continued to move her hips, grinding in pursuit of orgasm. Robert’s other hand pulled from her backside and shot between her legs, playing with her clit in his fingers.

She was trapped. Fully encompassed in his arms as she tipped over the edge, surrendering to the magic of Robert Plant. Gripping onto his hirsute forearms, she laid her head back onto his shoulder, muscles twitching and tensing all over. Crying out, groaning; entire demeanour manipulated into nothing but a withering phenomenon.

“Christ, you’re clenching so hard around me, little girl,” he whispered hotly into her ear, hips stuttering as he found himself on the cusp of his own release. “Fuck, come here.” He pulled out of her, ushering her back up to the pillows so he could lie down on his side, bringing her back to his chest. He lifted her leg up, easily sliding back into her from behind, with his face practically hovering over hers at the same time.

He made her cum again, and again, and again, until she was shaking, flushed, completely weakened by his cock. Somehow, he’d managed to stave off his orgasm. Watching her in fits of ecstasy was just as good as experiencing his own.

But now, he knew he had to cum. There was no holding it back any longer.

Mallory found herself sitting back up, only this time, facing him. Kneeling over her like a statue honouring an icon. Only she was honouring him.

Robert’s fingers held onto her hair as she bobbed her head up and down his cock, cheeks hollowing and eyes blown with lust, staring up at him and his contorting expressions.

“Fuck, yes… Keep going, baby, I’m gunna cum down your throat,” he encouraged, suppressing the desire to start thrusting his hips against her mouth. She was doing a good enough job on her own, humming whenever his tip hit the back of her throat, circling his tip with her tongue, paying special attention to the fullness of his balls. She didn’t miss a single thing. She knew how to please a man just as much as he knew how to please a woman. And it was as clear as day why celebrity gossip practically eulogised her oral skills.

Mallory Jackson is perfect.

“Mallory… bloody hell, I’m cumming—ah, good girl, good girl…”

Her perfection was pristinely punctuated by the way she opened her mouth, giving him the full view of the thick ropes that shot from his cock, every drop coating her tongue and lips.

Her name spilled from his lips, over and over again, as he twitched and jerked against her mouth, eyes squeezed shut and jaw tightly jutted outward. She smirked as best as she could, never having witnessed such ethereal beauty in the heat of climax.

Once she was certain he was finished, she looked him in the eye as she swallowed his load, cleaning up the excess that ran down his shaft in the aftermath of convulsions. Shakily, he bent down and caught her tired and swollen lips in a heated kiss, collapsing back on top of her against the pillows.

Sheets stuck to them, heartbeats thumped a tremendous rate, whiskey on the side remained lukewarm and privy to the night’s sordid events. The two of them barely spoke as they tried to settle, holding onto each other in a haze.

“What… what time is it?” Mallory asked, chest heaving, looking over her shoulder. Robert lazily angled his head to look up at the wrist he donned a watch on.

“Half one…” He dropped his head back down, pulling Mallory further into him by her waist. “Party’s still goin’ on…” he added.

Shutting her eyes, she dragged her fingers along the damp hair on his arm to soothe them both. “Did you want to go back down?”

Robert chuckled airily, pressing his forehead into the back of her head. “Don’t really want to, but… Guess I should, really, shouldn’t I?”

Smirking, she gave him a light giggle in response. “Maybe… it is for you, after all…”

“Mhm…”

“But then again,” she turned over, laying her head close to his, “You get to choose what you want to do at your own event, no?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Very good point, luv.” He planted a sloppily aimed kiss to her lips, mostly getting just the corner of them. “You’re bloody brilliant, y’know that?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, I have my moments,” she hummed against his mouth.

“Well, how long you in New York for?”

“Couple more days… Why?”

Enveloping her in a complete embrace, Robert attached himself to her, like he had done to many in the past, but many so unlike Mallory.

“Maybe I could remind you how brilliant you are until you leave, then?” he posed, gazing down at her with hooded eyes.

“I’ve got a shoot tomorrow afternoon,” she informed him.

“I’ll come with you, then,” he shrugged.

“You’ll come with me?” she snorted. “Do you realise how massive that’d be? There’d be paps everywhere…” Despite her words connoting agitation, it was in her blood to enjoy the attention.

“Honey, you and me, we live for the spotlight, and we’ll bloody well die in it, too,” he grinned, “What’s the harm in a little provocation now and then?”

Mallory smiled, convinced this wouldn’t be the last time she’d see Robert Plant in her lifetime.

“No harm at all, Mr Plant.”

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