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Day 3 - Sound/Music

"The show must go on"

By Patrick D. Lambert

Commissioned by Sanmer

The look of the place had them at full alert even before they crossed the swinging wooden doors. It was an old-fashioned bar that didn't limit itself to the aesthetic of the time but also included the cheap-ass materials everything was made of, and deplorable sanitary regulations that should have put it out of business if it wasn't located in the middle of the most corrupt and forgettable sector of Chicago.

The bikers hid their disgust, not wanting to attract any more attention from an already suspicious audience, who scowled at their arrival from behind their dirty mugs and cigarette smoke. Throttle kept a hand close to his laser gun, hoping not to draw but ready to shoot at the smallest aggression. His orangish fur bristled in response to the invisible threat hidden behind those tired eyes and twisted lips. The big ears twitched in search of any hint that someone could be getting ready to attack.

Modo, the grayish mouse, moved with a bit more confidence. With the chest puffed and the arms slightly flexed, his muscles were the threat that kept the bad guys away. While the prosthetic right arm was usually enough to discourage anyone looking for a fight, his red right eye also evoked fear with a simple glare.

But the public didn't act upon them and, aside from the clear disgust of seeing two anthropomorphic rats walking in, continued drinking with the gloomy aspect of a man sentenced to death.

"Well, this is depressing," Throttle whispered.

The rats kept their guard up. Taking safety for granted, especially in a place like that, was a free pass for an ambush. Their boots moved over the sticky wooden floor while in search of a table that had the least amount of stains, gum chew, and cigarette burns on it. It was hard to imagine people drinking there voluntarily. Most, if not everyone there, had the look of someone wanting to get drunk for the pure sake of it and not because they wanted to enjoy a good beer.

"Humans are peculiar," Modo mentioned after they agreed on a table next to a weak and small stage.

"Let's not act as if this behavior was exclusive of their world," Throttle said. While he still was alert of any danger, the wooden chair that creaked under his weight offered a bit of comfort, enough for him to relax and take a break. "I'm more concerned about why Vinnie invited us here. Or where exactly is he?"

"I remember he said something about a band."

"Did he really continue with the band thing?" Throttle rolled his eyes sideways before throwing a heavy sigh.

"I thought you knew. He has been going out to practice every day for the past two weeks."

"What?" The surprise in his voice got some attention, and it was a sign for Modo that he had said something he shouldn't. "I thought he was working at the garage!"

"Oh... jeez. Sorry, Throttle," Modo scratched his neck nervously as if he believed that would pass as an apology.

Throttle scowled at the stage, big enough to fit a trio with no instruments. If Vinnie called them for a presentation, couldn't he at least pick a better place? That evening had already begun poorly.

"Look, it's not that I want to discourage him, but he doesn't even sing in the shower. And I don't remember him talking about knowing how to play a guitar or anything else."

The old bartender approached. A fat man with white hair and a lush beard, his apron looked as if it hadn't been washed off in weeks--a very generous guess. He left two mugs of foamy beer and said: "The white rat sent them."

Modo almost jumped over him if it wasn't for Throttle, who swiftly put a hand over his knee to stop him.

The man said nothing else and left. Whether he noticed or not their reaction it didn't seem to matter, for Throttle was more intrigued over his message.

"So Vinnie is really here," he pointed out, looking at the amber liquid poorly poured on the dirty mug.

"We're gonna get sick from drinking this, right?" Modo ran a finger across the surface just to check how dirty the mug really was.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"Do you think this is a trap?" Modo whispered, his fists already clenched and ready for a fight.

"No. Vinnie wouldn't fall so easily. But something about all of this feels odd."

Throttle took the mug. Against his best judgment, the orangish mouse gave it a sip. The mug was dirty, yes, but it didn't affect the taste of a regular beer. His tongue didn't perceive anything that could indicate the presence of poison or something similar.

Seeing his courage and determination, Modo took a sip too. Well, he chugged half of it. The seconds passed, but none of them noticed a negative effect on them. It was only beer poorly poured into a dirty mug by a man that had been doing the same shitty job for longer than it should've been.

"Let's play along for now," Throttle ordered.

The lights turned off right after that, leaving the spotlight pointing at the stage. A red curtain acted as the wall dividing the bar from the backstage, where, judging by how the cloth rustled, someone was eager to come out.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a young, energetic, and clearly out-of-place voice began to talk through a speaker, "good evening! Tonight we have a special show. The debut of a talented singer, whose voice will reach the hearts and minds of thousands all over Chicago!"

"Thousands?" Modo frowned.

"Talented?" Throttle added.

"But right now, as an exclusive for all of you, he'll be singing for us tonight! He's the star you weren't expecting. Let's give a warm welcome to... VINNIE!"

The enthusiasm in his voice didn't bring any joy to the public, who remained with their heads resting over the dirty tables and behind mugs that the bartender made sure were always full. Neither made them look at the stage, where a white mouse had walked in through the curtain.

There he was, Vinnie. The most energetic member of the trio came attired in a slightly more daring but not less revealing outfit than usual. His bandolier had been replaced by an X-cross leather harness visible even under the golden satin shirt with the upper buttons open to reveal the fluffy white fur from his chest. Tight leather pants covered his athletic legs, enhancing the appearance of his prominent bulge. The sunglasses protected him from the radiant spotlight, and his smile evoked a confidence they had never seen before in him.

He didn't fit in there. And that outfit didn't fit on him! Yet it gave a certain spiciness to his slender and athletic aspect, it made the mice fluster a bit.

"Good evening, my beloved audience. It's an honor to be here with you tonight!"

That was the first instance where Throttle noticed something was off. Not only was his physical language out of the ordinary, with a bunch of hand gestures and a more provocative pose; but Vinnie also looked beyond the current audience, to the wall behind them, as if there were more people in the back.

"I've been so excited about this night. Because my two best friends are with us right now! Throttle and Modo!"

With a movement of his finger, a new spotlight turned on, trapping the two mice under its incandescent light. They both lifted their hands to protect their eyes, but the brightness made it hard to see the rest of the public.

"Guys. You know I love you. And you both have been a big part of my life. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

His metal mask covering the right side of his face reflected the light and attacked the duo from two sides, making it hard for them to keep an eye on the rest, believing this was part of the trap. But what did Vinnie have to do with all of it? It made no sense.

"That's why I write a special song. Just for you." That was the cue for the music to start playing. A dim piano melody that grew in intensity as Vinnie continued talking. "This song carries all my feelings over all the adventures we had since the day we crashed here in Chicago. I hope you like it."

He then began to sing at the compass of the piano. It was a cheerful song, with the pace of a romantic ballad. In it, he praised the friendship and bonds made since their first day on Earth. He talked about the friends they made and the adventures they had, going from their encounter with the Road Ravens to the journey to Cheesyland.

And while his voice was nothing out of the ordinary, it did surprise both Throttle and Modo with his profound passion and the feeling put into each verse. It was a side of Vinnie they hadn't seen before, a romantic and emotional side that contrasted not only his current attire but also with his reckless and carefree attitude.

The mouse continued. His performance was completely opposite to what the bar represented. It was happy, cheerful, and passionate. The explosive hand gestures and his wide steps from side to side over the stage called the sleepy audience to become part of the show. He invited them to jump in. To dance. To sing. To embrace his feelings.

It was contagious, just like Vinnie's attitude. Throttle forgot for a moment he was still mad at him for sneaking during the night without him knowing. Even Modo looked happy, swaying his torso from side to side following the rhythm. It was a contagious rhythm. He had a strange need to keep listening to it.

And when the song ended, he got no applause except from the mice, yet Vinnie lifted his hands and thanked the audience.

"Thank you everyone! This is only one of many songs I've written. And there are more to come! The night is young and we're still full of energy, am I right?!"

Another call that was met with absolute silence. Not a single member of the audience reacted to his enthusiasm. He was putting his soul into each vocal and they didn't bother to even bat an eye!

"What kind of public is this?" Modo wondered, chugging again at his mug.

Wasn't it half empty? Throttle swore it was. And when he looked down, much to his surprise, his mug was full too, with the foam threatening to overflow. When did the old man refill them? He should have seen it come! Throttle was about to pull his laser gun if it wasn't for Vinnie's voice, who announced the next song.

"This one might be a little... spicy, for some of you. But I'm sure you'll love it."

The melody changed. The piano maintained the same rhythm, but the tones were more intimate. A romantic ballad written to be listened to under the privacy of the bedroom sheets, with doors and curtains closed, away from the rest of the world.

Vinnie began his new song. This time, with microphone in hand, the verses were a delicate and intimate whisper. A passionate song about a delicate body being explored by the big and rough hands of a couple of lovers.

"Come and reach the moon with me; bring the stars down our bed."

It was nothing like the previous one. There was no enthusiasm or excitement in his voice, only a soft and shy plea. It made him look weak and vulnerable, completely opposite to his usual behavior.

With his free hand, he made love to himself, running it all over his athletic body with the same passion of an unknown lover. From his neck and down his thighs, all over his crotch, and going back up to finish with a soft caress to his cheek. The rhythm set the pace on which his hips and tails swayed, a slow and erotic dance that wasn't interrupted by his passionate singing.

"Reach my thighs and find my treasure; take me there, beyond the stars."

His lovely voice caught them. Throttle looked to his left and found a dazzled Modo resting his face over one hand while the other kept pouring the delicious beer from the full mug straight into his mouth. He never saw that sparkle in his eyes, a test of love and desire that he didn't expect he would express for a male, much less a friend so close as Vinnie.

Throttle resisted it, but he felt the pressure in his chest, a strange tingle that kept getting stronger the more he listened to his voice. It was getting more melodic as the song progressed, switching between high and low pitches. All of it while continuing the erotic dance, a slow but steady sway from left to right he couldn't look away from.

"Come and reach the moon with me; bring the stars down our stage."

The buttons of his satin shirt opened to reveal more of his sexy torso, with nothing else but the X-cross harness to partially conceal his neatly trimmed white fur. And when the piece of cloth abandoned his body, the audience began their choir in the shape of a loud and rhythmic table smash with their mugs. It startled the duo, who looked around, their eyes wide open.

On the stage, Vinnie continued his song and dance, all of it while the zipper of the leather trousers came down. With a firm and strong pull, the white mouse removed the pull-on pants, revealing not only his strong legs but the white jockstrap that protected the most intimate part of his body.

That's what made Throttle and Modo jump from their seats, spilling the amber liquid all over the dirty table. The almost naked mouse continued as if that was completely normal, with his dance becoming more erotic and appealing. It was as if he wanted them to get on the stage and join.

"Take off your suits. Take me to our Heaven hidden beyond the night stars."

His voice echoed across the bar, empowered by the mugs smashing the tables together. Harder. Louder. And the spotlight remained over them, making notorious their sudden shyness from his friend's calling.

His music matched with the sensuality of his moves. The athletic body gained a more attractive look, with curves only visible from certain angles, and poses that enhanced the most notorious attributes.

"Come with me. Let's leave this world behind."

A subtle gesture from his hand invited them up. A delicate sway from his tail caught their eyes. His sensual voice stripped them of their clothes. Both mice shook their heads to get it off their minds. But his call remained there, bouncing from side to side, attracting them to the center of the stage.

The loud and constant smash from the mugs gave them no space to think. To breath. To rest. It forced the song into their heads. Each word. Each verse. Each call. It was a devious trap, and Throttle discovered it too late. His body refused to obey, aware that any reaction, for as little as it could be, would interrupt the beautiful song. It refused to allow that to happen. He wanted to listen more and more and more. His voice. His tone. His dance. His body. His everything.

"Take off your suits. Take me to our Heaven hidden beyond the night stars."

Modo was the first one to answer. His boots. His vest. His leather jeans. He left one garment after another behind until he was completely naked and erected, standing on top of the stage. The size difference between them became even more notorious with their clothes off, not only from the height but also the massive muscles.

"Modo! What the fuck are you doing?!" Throttle called up. The burn from his blushing cheeks became notorious at that point, with the edges of his lips already sore from holding up a big and cheerful smile he hadn't noticed until that moment.

The same went to his erection, throbbing under the black leather trousers. A dark stain had made its appearance, evidence of how much he had been leaking since who-knows-when. Both legs trembled under his weight, and Throttle had to rest his hands over the knees, victim of a sudden and brutal exhaustion.

"Vinnie... what's going on? Why are you doing this?!" The orangish mouse asked between huffs, but his friend did not ask.

Vinnie continued his melodic and romantic song while making Modo part of his dance. The brawny gray mouse stood behind his friend. With both hands on his waist, Throttle caught a glimpse of Modo's cock, a thick and wet rod of red meat threatening to invade the tight rectal cavity of his little friend.

"Join. Join. Join."

"I nee- I need to..."

Throttle wanted to draw and shoot at the spotlight. And at the speakers. And at that damn microphone in Vinnie's hand. But his body didn't act. It swayed at the rhythm of the music while his paws advanced forward. Slowly. Carefully. And his hands removed the pieces of cloth covering his sturdy body.

"No... no..." he cried out.

"Join. Join. Join." The public chanted, the mugs remarking on the strength of their words.

His sexy body became visible, followed at every step by the radiant spotlight. The firm pecs. His strong abs. The delicious bulge under his briefs quickly revealed a large and curved cock with heavy balls begging for release. But unlike his friend before him, Throttle crawled on his fours to get up the stage. His eyes already over his objective.

"Join. Join. Join. Join."

Vinnie's song continued. The passion turned up to ten after the thick head of Modo's cock entered his tight hole, using nothing but his thick saliva as lubricant. The stud pushed with little care, testing Vinnie's resistance. His friend, a trembling mess whose song had been afflicted by the high-pitched moans from a cock stretching his ass.

"JOIN. JOIN. JOIN."

Throttle had no control over himself. Even after the microphone fell from Vinnie's hand, he kept listening to the song in his head.

"Come and reach the moon with me; bring the stars down our stage."

It echoed over and over again. Every verse. Every vocal. He listened to it in his head. And, acting upon the lyrics, he reached for Vinnie's treasure and pulled down the musky underwear.

Several zippers came down together. A bunch of drunk bastards stood up from their seats and jerked off, visibly engaged by the newest show taking place on stage.

A trio of mice that had never been with another male before were performing a threesome on stage. A little and shy white mouse being attended by his two friends, one big stud fucking his ass, one nasty boy sucking his cock off. It was a delightful and exclusive show, exactly what the audience had been waiting for.

"SING. SING. SING. SING."

They chanted together, their hands moving up to set the pace. And the white mouse obeyed, turning his moans into a beloved song for his horny and excited audience.

Modo, with a bit of help from Throttle, lifted Vinnie from the stage. The white mouse rested his thighs on the orange mouse's shoulders, forcing him to swallow his musky cock. The stud behind him, with a better grip and position, rammed his fat cock with force, showing no mercy to Vinnie's virginal hole. And the resulting moans pleased an audience who cheered, applauded, and moaned along with them.

An orgasm after another. White and thick cum covered the sticky tables, while the trio of mice continued his performance, reaching pitches none other singer had ever reached there before.

But not a single one of those moans interrupted the song playing in their heads, a perpetual trap that kept them inside a fantasy from which they wouldn't escape.

And when the next song started, their posture changed. Vinnie laid on his fours, fucked from both sides. It was Throttle and Modo's turn to sing, adding the wet slaps from their thrusts into the song.

Then Vinnie rode their cocks. Then he sucked them off. Then took them both together. And the show continued even after the three of them had reached their climaxes. Bathed in their own sweat, saliva, and cum, the three mice fucked like animals over the stage, encouraged by a public who wanted more and more, delighted by the ferocious and lustful debauchery.

From the curtain came a man of wide shoulders and thick lips, attired in a perfectly tidy purple suit. Lawrence Limburger pulled out a couple of ropes and offered them to Vinnie, whose sunglasses had fallen off, revealing the black and white swirls in his eyes from the hypnosis he had been subjected to over the last two weeks.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lawrence began, "gave a warm welcome to our new stars: the Biker Mice from Mars! They will be presenting their show every night. Vinnie, why don't you show them the ropes? I'm sure they're eager to join you."

"Yes, Master," the white mouse answered, smiling widely at the duo of mice below him.

The show had just begun.