A Roger Taylor Collection

Rog-Shots #2 - Some Day, One Day

October 1975

The headboard cracked against the wall over and over as the legs of the bed thumped on the floor, strangled breaths and short moans resonate in the small bedroom of the empty house during the early morning hours; after one of Queen's infamous concerts of course. He had played hard and was still full of energy and what is the best way to tire himself out? Sex. It always worked; especially with you.

Roger moves on top of you with deep and calculated breaths puffing out of his mouth. His head was tucked in your neck as he sucked on your throat, tickling the hot nerves with the tip of his igniting tongue. God was he talented, he knew how to get anyone going outside of the bedroom let alone being underneath him, feeling the pressure between your legs and the pleasure that he gave. No wonder he was a rock star, he had the cock to prove it. Roger Taylor, a human specimen of angelic features with a devils agenda; the male of few who can look at a woman for a split second and make her soak uncontrollably. His ice-cold colored eyes and promiscuous smile, toned body and the talent with his hands being gentle but hard at the same time; well, he was trouble wrapped up into one man.

You, on the other hand, are Roger times 100.

A proper vixen of the highest standard, a killer queen at the least. You never settle for anything you didn't want and always got what you sought after; something to sink your teeth into as many o' men had said. Your unusually irresistible charm and charisma were like a lure, a bloody siren to whomever you directed to, whoever you wanted really. That's how he fell into your grasp, that is how he hasn't managed to escape; not that you mean to do it, it just happens.

"F-fuck...yeah—that's it" Roger groan breathily into your neck, taking a break from all the love-bites he left on you. It has become a trend in him lately, he liked marking you for a reason only he knew. You always called them 'hickies' and laughed about them in the morning saying, 'Jim Morrison never gave me love-bites—and he was a romantic! You are not a romantic, doll' saying the word 'love-bite' like it was the most ridiculous thing you had ever heard. Roger...? He thought he used a better word to describe them; but only used it when it came to sucking them all over your skin—in his head at least, not out loud after what you had said about one of his now Ex-idols Jim Morrison. He doesn't like the fact that he has touched you like he had—how you were his to touch right now.

You clamped down on him graciously as you clung to his back and shoulders, holding onto his silky skin as best you could with your own soft and delicate palms. He slammed into you a bit harder than the last thrust and you knew that he was going to cum sooner rather than later, he has already lasted over 40 minutes and had no sign of stopping while bedding you on this early Friday morning. You moaned in appreciation at this fact, you felt close too; not as close as you wanted though.

You usually got off on him getting off from using you for pleasure and relief; as a groupie, this is how it's always been for you with other bands you had followed. Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, The Who; anyone you could snatch up was claimed by the one groupie who could get in every single one of their pants by gazing up at them on stage in the pit of moving bodies. You caught their eyes with just a look and body language that could sell you to anyone who spared a glance.

That's how Roger fell into your hands.

5 months ago...

Your friend dragged you by the hand into the largest tavern in London, you were traveling around the world and drifting from place to place when she met up with you and told you about this band you had to see. They were up and coming, but coming in hot. They were this hot four-piece with an outrageous frontman called an even more outrageous name; Queen.