Kpop Tarts: A Vlad the Impaler Adventure

Some pop stars can be a real pain in the butt.

Vlad is backstage security for the biggest Korean Pop Festival of the year to prevent fans who are clamoring to meet their idols from gaining access to the dressing rooms. But he has bigger things on his mind. The concert is headed for disaster and quite possibly a riot when Q-Dong, the temperamental lead singer of the world’s most popular Korean boy band NQB8 is laid out by a migraine so savage he can’t perform. There’s no time to call a doctor, so Vlad gives the singer one of his own migraine pills, telling him to insert it like a suppository for faster relief. Q-Dong recovers enough to perform to great success but is the pill that Vlad gave him everything it’s cracked up to be?

Kpop Tarts was first published by loveyoudivine Alterotica

There were fuckin’ people everywhere; jabbering at me, poking me, pushing me, demanding this and that, asking directions. I could only image what it must be like outside the venue. Here inside, it was bedlam. I was expected to be nanny, nursemaid, therapist, lost and found, as well as confidence booster. I’d never come across so many fragile egos. On the plus side I’d never come across so many hot fuckin’ men. My cock was permanently hard even though most of them were out of my league, especially the boy bands, those cute young twinks, all legal mind although no one seemed to be over about twenty-three. They wouldn’t even give me a second look. Security was always taken for granted until something went wrong. Then all the shit and the blame are heaped on us.

I can take it. I have broad shoulders. I’m a huge fucker – you gotta be in this profession. In fact, I’m probably intimidating to those cute twinks I tower over. I could crush an entire boy band in one hand or bounce them on my bicep, smother them between my pecs. I’m not muscle bound, and I don’t do steroids, but I’m fuckin’ ripped. Ripped enough that I’ve had my ass patted and my package squeezed several times in tonight’s melee. Never managed to make out who it was though in the crush. I hoped it was male.

Didn’t matter, my cock wasn’t likely to see any action tonight. Speaking of cock, that’s where I get my name: Vlad the Impaler. Real name: Vladimir Zeklos. I’ve Romanian blood coursing through my veins courtesy of my parents, and my dick is as big as the stake they use to drive through Dracula’s dead heart. I’m no vampire though. Just an ordinary, everyday security guard.

It’s only after I unzip and haul out my Romanian sausage that I become truly extraordinary. Trouble is, my prick is so long and thick it’s hard to find a good man to take it all. Before I met my lover I was constantly frustrated by men whose fantasies were bigger than their mouths or their assholes. I reduced a few of them to quivering terror just by unzipping. Others were reduced to tears after I’d managed to wedge an inch or two into their less than elastic assholes. They all, without exception, pleaded a suddenly remembered prior engagement and fled my bedroom or the steam room or the back alley. Then there were the few who could take me. I loved those guys. Until I met Blake. His ass and his mouth, well, they just fit around my dick like they were meant for each other. To me, that’s love.