Guest blog: Bang me like you bang those drums

Image by the awesome Stuart F Taylor

Oh God I am missing festivals so much this year. And as if to taunt my festival-sick heart and taunt my horny body, Ariadne Awakes sent me the most cuntpunchingly beautiful piece about fucking the drummer in a band. I heard the audio before I read the text and frankly it took my breath away. Click ‘listen now’ above to hear Ariadne read it aloud in all it’s lust-fuelled glory, or read it below if you prefer, then go find more of her incredible work at under the name Ariadne Awakes, or on twitter @AriadneAwakes where you can find links to more stories, streams of consciousness and details about how you can get in touch to have a custom made audio just for you. Now please join me in revelling in this glorious, brilliant story, and cross your fingers for the end of Covid and return of festivals soon.

Bang me like you bang those drums

For anyone who’s ever wanted to fuck the drummer. 

I usually go for the front man. I get fixated on the gravelly tones that give me groin ache. The posturing, the illusion that he’s the main event, especially if there’s make-up and androgynous fashion involved.

But when you showed me that video…

When your hair was still long and tied back, feather behind your ear, tribal tattoo make-up over your defined cheekbones, chest bare, baggy harem pants, Buddha beads on the wrists of those muscular arms behind those drums, grinning at the expectant crowd… fuck me!

And you did, and I loved it.

Unfortunately I can’t have you whenever I want you.

But I’ve found a way to tide myself over. Those videos of you banging those drums. They finish me right off when I’m close. You might think it’s strange, that that gets me off, but let me explain.

It gets me off because it’s all there, the way you fuck. It’s all there in how you bang those drums. Your rhythm, your precision mixed with carefree abandon, improvisation. You get so into it, but you never forget your audience. Your enraptured audience.

Those faces you pull, the ripples down your bulging arms as you thrash them around, knowing exactly where they’ll land to strike the perfect beat. Your heart pounding through your smooth, sweat-drenched chest… I could watch you play those drums all night.

In a way it’s almost better than watching you when we fuck because I can see the whole picture. The way your gorgeous body moves in time to the beat as you master that beast of a drum kit and make it sing for you. The way you throw your head back, I can almost hear you groaning, like when you cum.

It’s the smiles out to the crowd that slay me. So confident. But you’re not a poser. You know you have them, that they can’t help but shake their hips to that primal tribal rhythm. Your absolute dedication to making the crowd yours. Not the front man, not the guy with the guitar, you.

You know what it is that they find so sexy? That I find so sexy? It’s seeing a man display passion in a way that’s acceptable, allowed, applauded. It’s not a pea-cocking display of toxic masculinity, not the way you do it. It’s a man saying: ‘I love this instrument, this music, it makes me feel something I want to share with anyone who wants to hear it’. That’s nothing to be scoffed at, nothing to take the piss out of. Where else do you see men in that state that isn’t vapid or feigned, or all about their fighting prowess, their athletic stamina on a football field, or porn? This is important because it’s real, because it’s music and music and sex are two of the world’s favourite things. The soundtrack to sex is important. That’s why I meticulously tweak our fucking playlist before every hook up. Adding, reordering, but I always keep the classics.

I fantasise about us meeting at our hook up pad one time and me forgetting my keys and you say: ‘Just come back to mine’ and because of our official arrangement, I feign reasons why it’s a bad idea, hoping you won’t notice my glee. ’What if it gets messy?’ And you say, ‘don’t worry about it’ and we end up back at yours.

Because it’s the first time I’ve got this close to who you are outside our bubble, I’m nervous and don’t know how to initiate the inevitable. Then I clock your pride and joy, your shiny drum kit and you grin that cocky grin that makes my cunt ache and invite me over to play on it and we all know where this is going.
I’m honoured that you let me anywhere near them, because I know how much they mean to you. How expensive they are and me being so clumsy. There’s not enough room on the stool for both of us and you’re keen to show me exactly what to do, so you get a chair and sit behind me, your groin right up against the small of my back as I grasp the sticks hard. You take my hands in yours and I can’t tell whether the heat is coming from me or you and you use them to beat out a simple rhythm. I’m childishly overjoyed at the sudden noise and utterly turned on by your proximity, your breath on my neck. But I’m determined not to give in so easily.

I get the hang of it finally, the riff to the obvious pop song you knew I’d like but don’t particularly care for (you have refined tastes when it comes to your passion, I love that). So you take your hands away and let me do it, my thing. You laugh. You say: ‘good’ in my ear and I totally lose my rhythm in my urge to hear ‘girl’ after it. I keep going, because I want to be a kick ass drummer for you. Your hands wander to my hips, then up from my hips to cradle my breasts. Then make their way back down to my aching clit. I drop the drumsticks and feign annoyance. ‘Not fair’ and you insist playfully that I’ll never make a good drummer if I get so easily distracted. I take the bait and ask how well you can handle distraction.

Challenge accepted, as we both knew it would be. You swap places with me and for a second I get so turned on by the vibration of the drums, the noise, the way your body moves, I forget I’m supposed to be tweaking your nipples, nibbling your earlobes. Which I know in real life would be impossible to do to someone banging away on a drum kit, but it’s a fantasy so fuck it.

So I get on with it, letting my hands ravish you while you, infuriatingly, never miss a beat. So I cheat and go straight for a cock squeeze and it’s rock hard. I’m wet at the thought that this is how you might be every time you play. Sure enough the drumsticks clatter to the ground and you announce to the room that I’m a ‘bad girl’ and even though I can’t see your face, I know you’re grinning. You get up and turn around and just tilt your head as if to say ‘you know where bad girls go.’

Of course I do.

I hitch up my skirt and see the flash of excitement across your mock stern face that I’m not wearing any underwear. You move achingly slowly, commanding the silence and I bend over the biggest drum and clutch the sides.

And of course, after a maddeningly long second or two, you give me your rock hard dick, no messing and bang me over your drums and we make our own discordant rhythm as we fuck like sweaty animals over your favourite toy that you’ve spread me all over so you can pound me. I imagine a crowd cheering us on as if it’s fucking Wembley and it makes me push back with equal vigour and you moan and it feels naughty and sacred all at once. Any solemnity quickly broken by you clashing the symbols just as you cum and we laugh, because this is a fucking ridiculous fantasy.

My other fantasy involving you banging your lovely drums is a bit more down to earth.

It’s when I imagine being in a crowd in a packed festival tent watching you play. Wedged in among older types, bored teenagers who are secretly loving it, those guys who just stand there, drink and don’t move, no matter how danceable the tunes are and, of course, the girls. In their festival chic and flowery dresses and their tie dye and glitter. They are all more ‘fuckable’ than me aesthetically. This is not me being self hating or deprecating, it’s the truth. It’s a detail that turns me on even more. They’ll notice you straight away, front man utterly blanked, because they just know. It’s all there in the way you bang those drums. You know how to fuck.

“Shit, that drummer is hot!”

One says to her friend and I just grin to myself and think ‘eat your heart out faerie girl.’

Because I’ve had you and you’ve had me, over those very drums.

And the song will start and they’ll forget about you as the jaunty rhythms set them dancing, but I don’t take my eyes off you and you clock me, and flash me a grin.

Later that night, I imagine you making your way from tent to tent of the adoring girls who slipped you their locations after the gig. You don’t make a grand entrance, you just unzip the tent, crawl in slowly to see them already naked and wet for you and without a word, you give them the slow teasing fuck they’ve wanted from every festival they’ve ever been to, but somehow it never worked out. You give them the ‘I fucked the drummer’ fantasy. Your hand gently pressed over their mouths as they cum loudly, you don’t want to wake the next girl. You don’t want to spoil the illusion for her that she’s the only one.

You kiss them for longer than you fuck them, just so they feel seen, so they know how you taste, so they never forget. Then you move to the next one. And finally, you get to me.

I’m not disappointed that I’m one of many, because every girl deserves a tent-fuck like this. No, I’m ecstatic, because when you unzip my tent and find me, you grin with relief and your cock is stiff despite your previous exertions. And I’m so ready for you, because you took your time and kept me waiting and I need you so badly, but you made me wait, because I’m your favourite.

You climb on top of me.

I smell your sweat.

I pull the feather from your hair and run it achingly slowly down your chest.

“Fuck me.”

I wrap my legs around you and cling to your gorgeous back as you fuck me hard, all that restraint unleashed because neither of us care how loud we are now. We just want to get lost in the unrelenting rhythm of abandon… yes, yes, fuck yes… you beautiful, passionate, sexy-as- fuck man…

Bang me like you bang those drums.


This post is also available as audio – click ‘listen now’ to hear Ariadne read it aloud, find more of her incredible work at under the name Ariadne Awakes, or on twitter @AriadneAwakes, or head to the audio porn page for more sexy stories read aloud.


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