Rachel sits behind the synth,
fingers drifting, twitching, gliding…
The stage lights catch her eyes,
half-closed, lost in her own thoughts.
Her Bluetooth toy nestled inside—
silent now, but she knows that won't last…
Synced to sound, she is in control, for now.

.

The Bubble Monkey waits for her cue—
guitarist tapping the body of his strat,
drummer spinning a stick in lazy circles.
The bassist watches the crowd,
counting the heads, the empty spaces,
the way bodies lean in without realizing.

.

Then, the first note—
low, warm, humming through the floor.
Rachel’s hands move without hesitation,
chords spilling like ink across the room,
thick, heavy, electric.

.

The guitar joins, then the drums,
the bass last, deep and steady.
A song takes shape in the air,
built from muscle memory and instinct.

.

Rachel doesn’t need to look up.
She knows Daphne is there,
breathing deeply in time,
her own toy throbbing,
set exactly the same.
Who will last the longest?
Neither is allowed to cum tonight.

Punishment awaits the loser.